The Epicurean Sage in the Ethics of Philodemus (Philosophia Antiqua, 168) [Bilingual ed.] 9004684808, 9789004684805

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The Epicurean Sage in the Ethics of Philodemus

Philosophia Antiqua A Series of Studies on Ancient Philosophy

Editorial Board F.A.J. de Haas (Leiden) K.A. Algra (Utrecht) I. Männlein-Robert (Tübingen) J. Mansfeld (Utrecht) D.T. Runia (Melbourne) Ch. Wildberg (Pittsburgh)

Previous Editors C.J. Rowe (Durham) J.H. Waszink† W.J. Verdenius† J.C.M. Van Winden†

volume 168

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/pha

The Epicurean Sage in the Ethics of Philodemus By

Wim Nijs

LEIDEN | BOSTON

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at https://catalog.loc.gov LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023031940

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 0079-1687 isbn 978-90-04-68480-5 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-68533-8 (e-book) doi 10.1163/9789004685338 Copyright 2024 by Wim Nijs. Published by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Brill Wageningen Academic, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau and V&R unipress. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill NV via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Acknowledgements ix Abbreviations x 1 Introduction 1 2 The Sage 6 2.1 The Sage in Antiquity 6 2.2 The Sage in Epicureanism 9 2.2.1 The Historical Sage 9 2.2.2 The Sage as a Role Model 10 2.2.3 The Feasibility of Sagehood 12 2.2.3.1 Διάθεσις and Easy Life Choices 12 2.2.3.2 Basic Requirements 14 2.2.4 Philodemus’ Use of the Sage as a Role Model 16 3 A Sociable Fellow and a Good Friend 18 3.1 The Avoidance of Social Isolation 18 3.1.1 Introduction 18 3.1.2 The Relationship between Vice and Social Isolation 19 3.1.3 Conclusion 28 3.2 Φιλανθρωπία and Sociability 29 3.3 The Importance of Having (Many) Friends 37 3.3.1 General Remarks 37 3.3.2 The Sage as a Friend-Maker 38 3.3.3 Generosity and Gratitude 46 3.3.3.1 Sharing with Friends 46 3.3.3.2 Gratitude as an Emotional Response 54 3.4 Sage Meets Sage: How Will the Sage Befriend His Peer? 60 3.5 Concluding Remarks 64 4 A Teacher and a Healer 66 4.1 General Remarks 66 4.2 Why Is the Sage a Teacher and a Healer? 67 4.2.1 Practical Benefits 68 4.2.2 Teaching the Other to Be One’s Friend 72 4.2.3 The Sage’s συμπάθεια 76 4.3 The Art of Teaching 84

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4.3.1 Epicurean τέχνη 85 4.3.2 Φιλοσοφικὴ τέχνη? 87 4.3.3 The τέχνη of Teaching 89 4.3.4 Are All Sages Expert Teachers? 96 5 Strategies of Interaction: How to Deal with the Morally Deficient 101 5.1 The Sage’s Downward Gaze 101 5.1.1 Magnanimity and Disdain 101 5.1.1.1 The Epicureans and μεγαλοψυχία 101 5.1.1.2 Disdain: μεγαλοψυχία vs. ὑπερηφανία 102 5.1.1.3 Disdain ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου 104 5.1.1.4 An Alternative Antithesis in Col. 15? 108 5.1.1.5 Other Instances of Epicurean καταφρόνησις towards People 109 5.1.1.6 The Philanthropic Sage and the χυδαῖοι 110 5.1.1.7 Concluding Remarks 110 5.1.2 Pity 112 5.1.2.1 Introduction 112 5.1.2.2 Whom Does the Sage (Not) Pity and Why (Not)? 114 5.1.2.3 Redefining Weakness and Pitifulness: Two Elucidating Examples 125 5.1.2.4 How Does Pity Accord with Epicurean Eudaimonism? 128 5.1.2.5 Epicurean Pity: Concluding Remarks 134 5.1.3 The Sage’s Downward Gaze: Conclusion 137 5.2 The Sage’s Defense against His Enemies 138 5.2.1 Introduction 138 5.2.2 Natural Anger 139 5.2.2.1 The Sage’s Anger 139 5.2.2.2 Bites and the Painfulness of Natural Anger 143 5.2.2.3 Effectiveness 146 5.2.2.4 Alienation and Hatred 148 5.2.3 Punishment and Revenge 152 5.2.4 The Powerless Sage: Better to Suffer Injustice than to Commit It? 158 6 The Sage’s Self-Control 165 6.1 Bites of Anger and Sorrow 165 6.1.1 Introduction 165 6.1.2 Bites of Anger 166

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6.1.3 Bites of Sorrow 167 6.1.4 A Bite of Envy? 169 6.1.5 Natural Emotions and Rational Assessment 171 6.2 Will the Sage Feign Anger? 174 6.2.1 Introduction 174 6.2.2 Feigned Anger? 175 6.2.3 Feigned Kindness? 178 6.2.4 Is There Room for Feigned Anger in Epicurean Ethics? 180 6.2.5 Conclusion 183 6.3 Will the Sage Become Drunk? 184 7 Apology of the Sage 198 7.1 Three Apologies 198 7.1.1 The Flattering Sage 198 7.1.1.1 An Accusation of Flattery 198 7.1.1.2 In Search of the Accusers 199 7.1.1.3 Philodemus’ Response 203 7.1.1.4 The Intended Reader 206 7.1.1.5 Flattery and Frank Speech 208 7.1.2 The Irascible Sage 211 7.1.3 The Arrogant Sage 216 7.2 Structural Comparison 219 7.3 The Epistemological Dimension 223 7.3.1 General Principles 223 7.3.2 Perception of the ‘Arrogant’ or ‘Irascible’ Sage 226 7.3.3 Perception of the ‘Flattering’ Sage 228 7.4 Conclusion 230 8 The Sage’s Livelihood 232 8.1 Introduction 232 8.2 The Roman Sage and His Estate 233 8.2.1 The Greek Context 233 8.2.2 The Roman Context 235 8.2.3 Philodemus’ Epicurean Clarifications 238 8.2.4 Conclusion 245 8.3 Leisure and the Labor of Others 245 8.3.1 The Utility of Slavery 245 8.3.1.1 Introduction 245 8.3.1.2 The Value of Slave Labor for the Sage’s Happiness 246 8.3.1.3 The Ethical Status of Slavery 247

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8.3.1.4 Humane Slave Ownership in Function of the Sage’s Security 248 8.3.2 The Sage’s Slaves 250 8.3.2.1 Wisdom for Slaves? 250 8.3.2.2 Wisdom for All Slaves? 254 8.3.3 Conclusion 258 9 Conclusions 260 9.1 A Qualifying View on Sagehood 260 9.1.1 The Adaptive Sage 260 9.1.2 The Fallible Sage 262 9.1.3 The Anti-Stoic Sage 262 9.1.4 The Bashful Sage? 264 9.2 The Limits of Qualifying Philosophy 266 9.3 Final Conclusion 268 Appendix: Philodemus’ Papyrological Writings: An Overview of the Cited Papyri and Their Editions 269 Bibliography 273 Indices 293 Index Locorum 293 Index Nominum 302 Index Rerum 304

Acknowledgements Unlike Epicurus, who famously disavowed, insulted, and ridiculed his teachers, Philodemus was, in fact, deeply grateful to his Epicurean predecessors and freely expressed his thankful admiration for his former mentor Zeno of Sidon. I have every reason to follow his example in this respect. This book is a revised and updated version of my doctoral dissertation, which I wrote under the supervision of Geert Roskam (KU Leuven) and Emidio Spinelli (La Sapienza). As such, I cannot thank these fine scholars enough for their kind support and expert guidance. I can confidently say that this book would not have existed without them. I would also like to thank Francesco Verde, Voula Tsouna, and Stefan Schorn for their invaluable remarks and suggestions which allowed me to improve my dissertation and turn it into the book that it is today. It is a pleasure to extend thanks to colleagues past and present at the Department of Greek Studies and the De Wulf-Mansion Centre for Ancient, Medieval and Renaissance Philosophy in Leuven, and the Dipartimento di Filosofia in Rome. I also thank the members of the international SPIDERnetwork, many of whom provided me with crucial feedback and stimulating discussions at the meetings organized jointly by Francesca Masi, Pierre-Marie Morel, and Francesco Verde. I also gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Research Foundation – Flanders (FWO grant numbers 1165419N and 1165421N).

…

An earlier version of section 1.1 of chapter 5 was published as W. Nijs (2022), ‘Philodemus on the Epicurean Virtue of Megalopsychia: Will the Sage Disdain Other People?’, in H.  Reid  – J.  Serrati (eds.), Ageless Aretē. Selected Essays from the 6th Interdisciplinary Symposium of the Hellenic Heritage of Sicily and Southern Italy, Siracusa – Dakota Dunes: Parnassos Press/Fonte Aretusa, 241– 256. Section  1.1 of chapter 7 uses material from W.  Nijs (2021), ‘Graeculus et Adsentator. Philodemus’ Defence of Epicurean Friendship and Frank Speech in Roman Society’, in P. d’Hoine – G. Roskam – S. Schorn – J. Verheyden (eds.), Polemics and Networking in Graeco-Roman Antiquity, (Lectio: Studies in the Transmission of Texts and Ideas, 12), Turnhout: Brepols, 65–92 (DOI: 10.1484/M. LECTIO-EB.5.126918). I wish to express my profound gratitude to Brepols Publishers and to the series editor Pieter d’Hoine for generously allowing me to re-use this material.

Abbreviations To refer to Philodemus’ works, I use the abbreviations listed in Cronache Ercolanesi. Adul. De adulatione / Περὶ κολακείας Adversus Adversus eos qui se libros nosse profitentur / Πρὸς τοὺς φασκοβιβλιακούς Bon. Rex  De bono rege secundum Homerum / Περὶ τοῦ καθ᾿ Ὅμηρον ἀγαθοῦ βασιλέως Conv. De conversatione / Περὶ ὁμιλίας Di De dis / Περὶ θεῶν Div. De divitiis / Περὶ πλούτου Elect. et fugae De electionibus et fugis / Περὶ αἱρέσεων καὶ φυγῶν Epicur. De Epicuro / Περὶ Ἐπικούρου Inv. De invidia / Περὶ φθόνου Ira De ira / Περὶ ὀργῆς Lib. dic. De libertate dicendi / Περὶ παρρησίας M. De morte / Περὶ θανάτου Mus. De musica / Περὶ μουσικῆς Oec. De oeconomia / Περὶ οἰκονομίας Piet. De pietate / Περὶ εὐσεβείας Poem De poematis / Περὶ ποιημάτων Rh. De rhetorica / Περὶ ῥητορικῆς Stoici De Stoicis / Περὶ τῶν Στοικῶν Sup. De superbia / Περὶ ὑπερηφανίας Other abbreviations follow Année Philologique or the Oxford Classical Dictionary.

Chapter 1

Introduction nam ille alter fortasse tamquam phoenix semel anno quingentesimo nascitur Seneca, Ep. 42.1

∵ The phoenix and the pig. Two animals, one legendary, the other thoroughly ordinary, which are, in numerous ways, radically different from each other. Yet, despite these fundamental differences, either animal has at some point in Antiquity been associated with a specific conceptualization of the philosophical ideal of wisdom and happiness. The phoenix is the mythological paragon of rarity, an elusive creature that is only born into this world every five centuries or so. It is a splendid beast that is known to many, but that is (almost) never observed in the flesh. As such, this iconic rara avis has been associated with the idea of the sage, envisaged as an exceedingly rare pinnacle of human wisdom, a person who has shed all human shortcomings and thus achieved a glorious state of complete perfection.1 A sage who is described as a person who is as rare as the phoenix, or even rarer still, must indeed be the most gloriously perfect and elusive type of human being that will ever walk this earth. The pig, on the other hand, is a very different type of animal altogether. This humble inhabitant of muddy farmyards is the Epicureans’ beloved mascot, an animal that represents the joys of an untroubled existence and the happiness that can be derived from simple pleasures.2 There is nothing rare, exalted, or 1 The Stoics held this belief about their sage; cf. Alex. Aphr., Fat. 28.199.16–18 (= SVF 3.658); Sen., Ep. 42.1. Cf. Porph., Abst. 3.2.3; Euseb., PE 6.8.13; 16 (= SVF 3.668). Cf. Brouwer (2002), 195–199. 2 Cf. Hor. Ep. 1.4.16. Archaeological evidence of the Epicurean fondness for happy piglets includes the bronze pig that was discovered in the Villa dei Papiri, and the famous silver cups, found at Boscoreale. For the idea of Epicureans as pigs, see the excellent discussion in Warren (2002), 129–149. Yet, admirable as the pig’s undisturbed happiness might be, the Epicureans knew all too well that the pig’s function as a role model has its limits. A pig does,

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exotic about the pig and, indeed, it does not cut a very impressive figure when placed alongside the otherworldly splendor of the elusive mythological phoenix. Still, the Epicureans favored the humble pig and admired its unassuming happiness and its ability to enjoy whatever pleasures ordinary life has to offer. A sage who shares important characteristics with this commonplace animal seems unlikely to be particularly rare or hard to imitate. Indeed, we would expect such a sage to be very much down-to-earth and, as such, far removed from the high-strung quasi-unreachable ideals of his phoenix-like counterpart. In this book, we will investigate how the Epicureans envisaged their sage and how the characteristics of that paragon of Epicurean wisdom accord with either of the aforementioned conceptualizations. In other words, we will explore how feasible the ideal of Epicurean sagehood really is for ordinary humans and to what extent it accommodates the shortcomings of human nature and the imperfections of the world that we inhabit. Our guide on this journey through the perfect Epicurean’s thoughts, emotions, survival strategies, and social skills will be the Epicurean philosopher and teacher Philodemus of Gadara. Philodemus (fl. 1st century bc) is a remarkable figure and an important source for our understanding of Epicurean thought.3 He was born around 110 bc in Gadara, a Hellenized city in the Middle-East, but left his birthplace to heed the alluring call of Alexandria and Athens, the ancient world’s great strongholds of intellectual culture. In Athens, he started to frequent Zeno of Sidon’s lectures in the Garden and became completely committed to Epicurean philosophy. Eventually, he left Athens as a fully trained Epicurean philosopher and a loyal defender of the school’s orthodoxy, and embarked on the journey that would ultimately lead him to Italy. There, he came into contact with the prominent Roman aristocrat Lucius Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus, who took a keen interest in Epicureanism and who must have been eager to act as the learned Greek’s patronus in exchange for specialized Epicurean guidance. Thus, Philodemus appears to have found a comfortable new home in Italy, where he had the opportunity to live, write, teach, and philosophize in Piso’s magnificent villa in Herculaneum. It is in this villa, nowadays known as the

after all, lack the human capacity for rational thought, which is precisely what enables us to overcome basic emotional impulses and to make the most advantageous life choices at every turn; cf. Warren (2002), 136–140. See also Konstan (2012). 3 Reconstructions of (parts of) Philodemus’ life can, e.g., be found in Erler (1994), 289–292; Sider (1997), 3–24; Gigante (2001); Capasso (2020), 379–390.

Introduction

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Villa dei Papiri, that the carbonized remains of an extensive library collection have been preserved, including several of Philodemus’ own writings.4 Philodemus certainly was a prolific writer, whose works seem to have covered a wide variety of topics and genres, including rhetoric, music, poetry, and biography.5 Of special interest, however, is his extensive collection of ethical writings, which make him the ideal point of reference for our study of the characteristics of the Epicurean sage.6 For many years, the fragmentary state of Philodemus’ ethical writings has presented a formidable obstacle to anyone who might have harbored the bold ambition to gain a deeper understanding of this ancient Epicurean’s ethical thought. In recent years, however, the accessibility of these texts has immensely improved and numerous new critical editions, translations, and studies have been published.7 Voula Tsouna’s absolutely groundbreaking work has, undoubtedly, played a crucial role in this significant revival of scholarly interest in Philodemus’ ethics.8 Thanks to her excellent monograph, which offers, as it were, an indispensable roadmap to the papyrological labyrinth that these texts once were, Philodemus is now studied as an important ethical thinker in his own right. It is, in fact, only thanks to Tsouna’s earlier work that the research that led to this book was feasible and, as a result, the present study may well be considered the work of a grateful dwarf standing on a scholarly giant’s shoulders. Philodemus’ ethical writings offer a systematic discussion of vices, virtues, emotions, and attitudes, interspersed with practical advice, therapeutic strategies, and polemical arguments. Throughout his elaborate discussions of 4 For the villa and its library, see Gigante (1995), 1–13; Capasso (2020), 391–407. 5 A detailed overview of Philodemus’ works is provided by Gigante (1995), 15–48 and Capasso (2020), 407–420. 6 Especially De ira, De superbia, De oeconomia, De morte, De libertate dicendi, De adulatione (in particular PHerc. 222), and De fugis et electionibus are of great interest, because these are  – for Herculanean standards  – reasonably well-preserved works that contain important explicit and implicit references to the Epicurean sage. Other, more fragmentary ethical works (e.g. De gratia, De invidia) or not strictly ethical treatises (e.g. De Epicuro, Rhetorica) from the Philodemean corpus will also be taken into account whenever relevant. Works by other (Epicurean) authors will primarily be used to corroborate, nuance, or contextualize the hypotheses that can be drawn on the basis of passages from the aforementioned treatises. 7 Over the past years, several new editions with an English translation and commentary have appeared in SBL’s Writings from the Greco-Roman World series. Together with Bibliopolis’ prestigious La scuola di Epicuro series, these recent editions have contributed immensely to the accessibility of Philodemus’ ethical works and open the door for innovative new scholarship. 8 Tsouna (2007).

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correct and incorrect dispositions, emotions, and behavior, Philodemus offers vivid descriptions of people who suffer from certain undesirable psychological afflictions. Of greater interest for this dissertation, however, is the fact that he frequently refers to the sage as well. This ideal of human wisdom serves as the ultimate example of a person who is free from vices and harmful emotions and who is perfectly equipped to consistently make the correct rational life choices and to avoid the various dangers to which his vice-riddled antitheses tend to fall prey. When Philodemus advices his readers on how they should lead their lives, he frequently does so by referring to the sage’s blissful way of life. As a result, Philodemus’ writings offer us a uniquely detailed insight in the emotional, dispositional, and practical aspects of the Epicurean sage’s daily life. This enables us to establish the range of emotions and attitudes that are relevant for the ways in which Philodemus’ sage interacts with the people and situations all around him. From the many references  – explicit as well as implicit – to the wise person’s characteristics that can be found scattered throughout Philodemus’ ethics, a uniquely detailed and multifaceted portrait of the Epicurean sage emerges. In the following eight chapters, we will explore different aspects of the sage’s way of life and his interaction with the world around him. In the second chapter, we will briefly consider the ancient philosophical concept of the sage and sketch the outlines of the Epicurean tradition that forms the background of Philodemus’ views on sagehood. The third chapter deals with the sage’s social skills. We will investigate how the Philodemean sage interacts with his friends and which strategies he uses in order to further expand his circle of friends. The fourth chapter is concerned with the sage’s activities as a teacher and a performer of Seelenheilung. This chapter focuses on his reasons to engage in such activities and on the status of his teaching skills as a τέχνη. Chapter five, then, deals with the different ways in which the sage may interact with the morally deficient. First, we will consider his attitude towards those who are merely morally inferior to himself, but who do not have a negative effect on his own wellbeing. Secondly, we will investigate the defensive strategies to which he may resort whenever one of these vice-riddled people actually means to harm him. In chapter six, we will consider three largely independent issues, which are all related to the overall topic of the sage’s ability to exercise control over his own emotional state. We will consecutively investigate the sage’s experience of emotional bites, the question whether the sage may feign emotions, and the issue of the sage’s (avoidance of) drunkenness.

Introduction

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Chapter seven, then, discusses and compares three passages from De adulatione, De ira, and De superbia, which each entail a defense of the sage against certain allegations. The penultimate part of this book, chapter eight, is concerned with two issues that are related to the topic of labor and leisure. The first section of this chapter studies the Roman context of Philodemus’ conceptualization of the landowning sage and investigates the ways in which Philodemus’ views entail a clarification of contemporary Roman thought on property management and agriculture. The second section explores the role of slaves in the Epicurean sage’s carefree estate ownership. Subsequently, we will take a look at the status of these slaves and their chances of ever becoming sages themselves. Lastly, chapter nine offers a final appraisal of the sage’s characteristics as they have emerged throughout the earlier chapters. In this final chapter, we evaluate the merits of Philodemus’ role model and reflect upon the nature of its strengths and limitations. In sum, this book will offer a reconstruction of the exemplary figure of the Epicurean sage, as envisaged by Philodemus, which will allow us to determine whether this particular breed of sage is as rare as the elusive phoenix or as common as the humble pig.

Chapter 2

The Sage σοφὸν δὲ μηδένα φάναι πλὴν αὑτοῦ γεγονέναι καὶ τῶν μαθητῶν Plutarch, Non posse 1100A

∵ 2.1

The Sage in Antiquity

The ancient Greeks certainly liked to have wise role models. The concept of the sage as a paragon of human perfection plays an important role in ancient thought. The famous list of the so-called Seven Sages is an early example of the Greeks’ desire to establish what true wisdom entails,1 in order to have tangible moral examples to whom they might aspire.2 It would not only go beyond the aim of this dissertation, but would also be nearly impossible to provide a representative overview of the rich ancient tradition of exemplifying wise men. For the purpose of the present chapter, however, it suffices to point out that we can discern two different approaches with regard to ancient exemplification of wisdom. In the first place, there is the biographical tradition. These descriptions depart from historical philosophers and wise men, whose lives and sayings are presented in a way that provides the reader with a tangible, if not necessarily feasible, moral example. Reading this moral character sketch is supposed to inspire us to imitate the wise man’s moral example to the best of our abilities. This biographical tradition is immensely rich and is often built upon spectacular anecdotes and incisive sayings. It is, however, not always entirely clear whether these philosophers are to be considered genuine sages or merely people who are striving to achieve wisdom. As far as the Platonic tradition is 1 We should probably not take into account the Homeric conceptualization of σοφία, which defines it as any mastered expertise. In Homeric terms, an expert carpenter possesses ‘wisdom’ (Il. 15.410–413). Cf. Leisegang (1927), 1019; Gladigow (1965), 9–11; Kerferd (1976), 24; Hadot (1991), 9; Brouwer (2014), 85. 2 See Snell (1971); Busine (2002); Engels (2010). For Plutarch’s banquet of the Seven Sages, see Defradas (1954), 16–28; Lo Cascio (1997), 36–65; Leão (2008), 484–488; (2009).

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concerned, the φιλόσοφος who searches wisdom should be distinguished from the σοφός who already possesses it.3 In fact, Socrates, who is arguably one of the most famous historical paragons of wisdom, radically refused to consider himself a sage.4 Plato’s descriptions of Socrates offer us a moral example of a man who excels as a philosopher and a seeker of truth, but also depict him as a formidable soldier,5 a highly-esteemed comrade, and a human being with a seemingly incorruptible bodily constitution, who can go without sleep, drink wine all night long, and who will still be as clearheaded as always in the morning.6 Such truly indestructible figures inspire awe and admiration, and Socrates was indeed regarded as a role model until the end of Antiquity and far beyond.7 Reading Plato’s and Xenophon’s portrayals, we might wish to become like Socrates ourselves. Yet, our admiration for Socrates does not make us his equal,8 nor does the description of his life and words literally tell us how to turn ourselves into Socratic philosophers, let alone sages. We can draw valuable life lessons from his actions and words and try to make life choices of which we think he might have approved. However, this biographical tradition does not provide us with a clear manual for sagehood. We have to figure things out ourselves and try to stablish how Socrates’ life in fifth century Athens might translate to our own situation.9 Although we can aspire to become like Socrates, it is, of course, impossible to really become Socrates. The question as to how we might make our own life as Socratic as possible is, ultimately, left unanswered. Secondly, there is a more abstract approach to the description of the sage. Rather than describing and extolling the moral qualities of individual philosophers and sages on the basis of their peculiar words and deeds, this approach 3 Cf. Pl., Symp. 204B. 4 Cf. e.g. Pl., Ap. 23AB. See Brouwer (2014), 136–176 on Socrates’ denial of his own sagehood and the question whether we should consider him a sage anyway. 5 Pl., Ap. 28D10–29A1; Charm. 153B9–C1; Lach. 181A7–B4; Symp. 220D5–E2; 221E8–222C1. Cf. Anderson (2005). 6 Pl., Symp. 223BD. 7 On the ancient exemplum Socratis tradition, see especially Döring (1979) and De Luise  – Farinetti (1997). Much interesting information can also be found in Hulse (1995); Wilson (2007), and especially Trapp (2007). 8 Cf. Plut., De prof. in virt. 84B–85B. Plutarch insists that we should translate our admiration into concrete deeds (unlike Alcibiades, who, for all his admiration of Socrates, nonetheless chose the wrong path). See Roskam (2005), 320–355 for further discussion. 9 Cf. again Plut., De prof. in virt. 85AB: ‘What would Plato have done in this case? What would Epameinondas have said? How would Lycurgus have conducted himself, or Agesilaus?’ (transl. Babbitt (1927)).

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departs from a generic ‘sage’, who is used both as a descriptive model and an implicit moral imperative. In this tradition, the reader is told what the sage will and will not do. The idea behind this is, of course, that if the reader wants to become wise himself, he should definitely try to do whatever it is that the sage is reported to do. This also provides us with a way to check up on the progress of our own pursuit of sagehood. If we fail to conform to one or more of the things which the sage is said to do, clearly we are not yet sages ourselves. This modus operandi becomes very popular as a method of instruction in philosophical schools. Especially the Stoics are famous, if not downright notorious, for their ample use of the generic concept of the sage as a descriptive and prescriptive model for wisdom.10 From an instructional point of view, it would seem to be relatively easy to become a Stoic sage. After all, one merely has to follow clear directions. Of course, the real problem lies with the difficulty of all these things that the Stoic sage is supposed to do. The sage is said to be completely infallible, free from error, weakness, ignorance, opinion, and suspicion and does literally everything in the most perfect way owing to the fact that all his deeds are in accordance with rationality and virtue.11 Although the presentation of the sage as a generic model rather than a historical person makes it easier to formulate clear-cut universal precepts, the absence of a clear connection between this sage and real life makes it more difficult to apply these precepts to specific situations. It is very clear how the perfect Stoic sage will (not) behave, but because these prescriptions are so impossibly demanding, (almost) every single human being has to admit that he or she falls painfully short of the mark. Stoic sagehood is, in principle, perfectly feasible and it is even clear what it would look like, but its requirements are simply so high that the sage is famously said to be as rare as the phoenix or even rarer.12 As a result, not even the most prominent Stoics themselves could with certainty be called 10

Studies on the Stoic sage can be found in Deißner (1930); Kerferd (1978); Brouwer (2002); Bénatouïl (2005); Annas (2008), 17–26; Vogt (2008); Liu (2009); Togni (2010); Vimercati (2011); Brouwer (2014). 11 Stob., Flor. 2.111 (= SVF 3.548); 2.66 (= SVF 3.560); Cic., Acad. 1.42 (= SVF 1.53). Cf. Liu (2008), 248–249. The claim that the Stoic sage will excel in every single activity he might undertake has, expectedly, been ridiculed by their opponents: e.g. Luc., Vit. auct. 20; Plut., Apoph. Lac. 220E; Reg. et imper. apoph. 192B; Stoic. absurd. poet.; Colotes, In Plat. Lys. PHerc. 208.8.(fr. 30).8–11 (= T. 6.12a 8.8–11 Cr.) (cf. Roskam (2021) on this passage); cf. Annas (2008), 19–24. 12 Alex. Aphr., Fat. 28.199.16–18 (= SVF 3.658); Sen., Ep. 42.1. Cf. Porph., Abst. 3.2.3; Euseb., PE 6.8.13; 16 (= SVF 3.668). Cf. Brouwer (2002), 195–199. The (unintended) irony here is that the phoenix is, of course, a mythological creature which does not really exist at all. See also Cicero’s claim that it is less unusual for a mule to procreate than for a Stoic sage to come into existence (Div. 2.61).

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wise.13 In fact, there even seems to have been some debate about the question whether a Stoic sage has ever been found in the first place.14 2.2

The Sage in Epicureanism

2.2.1 The Historical Sage The Epicureans made use of both approaches in their description of wisdom and wise men. A crucial element here is that both aspects are inextricably interconnected for the Epicureans, as a direct consequence of one of Epicurus’ bold statements. Numerous sources confirm that Epicurus provocatively claimed that the ideal of the sage is not only feasible, but that he himself and his followers were, in fact, the very first true sages in history.15 Thus, he boldly lays claim to sagehood and exhorts his followers to do the same.16 In this respect, the Epicurean view on sagehood is diametrically opposed to that of Socrates and the Stoics, which might not have been an entirely unpolemical choice on Epicurus’ part.17 As a result, the entire biographical tradition around Epicurus and the first generation of Epicureans can and should also be read as a description of the Epicurean sage in very concrete terms. The Epicureans themselves capitalized upon this exemplarity of their founder.18 Countless generations of Epicureans commemorated their Master with regularly organized banquets.19 Moreover, they commissioned statues and even had Epicurus’ image engraved upon cups, rings, and other paraphernalia.20 The depth of later Epicureans’ commitment to their Master’s moral example can be gauged from their statements that one should always act ‘as if Epicurus were watching’ and that the most important thing is ‘to obey Epicurus, after whose example we have chosen to live’.21 The memory of the Garden’s self-proclaimed original sages, then, 13 Cf. Brouwer (2002). 14 Cf. Sext. Emp., M. 7.432. See Brouwer (2002) on this issue. 15 Plut., Non posse 1100A (= Epic. fr. 146 Us.): (…) σοφὸν δὲ μηδένα φάναι πλὴν αὑτοῦ γεγονέναι καὶ τῶν μαθητῶν; Cic., Fin. 2.7. See also Sext. Emp., M. 1.57; 11.21 (= Epic. fr. 255 Us.); Plut., Adv. Col. 1108EF (= Metr. Fr. 33 Körte). Cf. Hirzel (1882), 279; Isnardi Parenti (1993), 7; Brouwer (2014), 169–170. 16 See especially Cic., Fin. 2.7. 17 Cf. Brouwer (2014), 170–171. 18 Cf. De Sanctis (2016). 19 Cf. D.L. 10.18; Cic., Fin. 2.101; Phld., Epigr. 27 Sider (= A.P. 9.44). 20 Cf. Fin. 5.1.3. See Frischer (1982), 87–128 on the many Epicurean statues and busts. 21 Sen., Ep. 25.5; Phld., Lib. dic. fr. 45.7–9. Compare also Lucretius’ exuberant praise of Epicurus as a bringer of light and salvation (DRN 3.1–30). For the Epicurean teacher as a savior, see De Sanctis (2013).

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takes the form of a true cult, devoted to the reinforcement of ties of friendship and the contemplation and imitation of supreme moral examples.22 The conversations and aphorisms of these original Epicureans were also used in a specifically educational context. Especially Philodemus’ De libertate dicendi contains several passages in which Philodemus’ advise about a certain use of frank speech or a specific educational situation is exemplified by a direct reference to interactions which took place between Epicurus and/or his students.23 It would seem that these anecdotes were part of a specifically Epicurean common frame of reference, serving to some extent as a positive alternative for the more traditional anecdotes about pre-Socratic philosophers, Homeric and tragic heroes, and historical kings and generals. The premise that every one of these first Epicureans was supposed to be a sage yields the important advantage that ethical dilemmas can be solved in the most satisfying and reassuring of ways: by telling people exactly what an actual Epicurean sage once did in that specific situation.24 2.2.2 The Sage as a Role Model Apart from this biographical tradition, the Epicureans also make ample use of the figure of the generic sage as a model of instruction. In Epicurean texts, the Socratic distinction between the φιλόσοφος and the σοφός appears to be absent. Of course, not all philosophers are sages, owing to the fact that rival schools also have their philosophers, who are, as far as the Epicureans are concerned, misguided fools. In reference to the Epicurean sage, however, the terms ὁ φιλόσοφος, ὁ φιλοσοφῶν, ὁ σώφρων ἀνήρ, ὁ σπουδαῖος, and ὁ σοφός are all used more or less interchangeably.25 Whilst Socratic ‘love of wisdom’ amounts to the pursuit of something that one lacks, the Epicureans seem to have reasoned that one can perfectly continue to love something that one has already acquired. Epicurus himself seems to have introduced the sage as an educational model into the Epicurean tradition from the very start. Diogenes Laertius’ summary of sayings and precepts from Epicurus’ works contains an extensive 22 See Capasso (1987), 26–37; Clay (1998), 75–80; De Sanctis (2016); Indelli – Leone (2019). 23 Lib. dic. Fr. 6; 9; 15; 49; 73; col. 5b; 6b; tab. 2 fr; 6. 24 Moreover, the Epicurean biographical tradition was not limited to the lives of Epicurus and his contemporaries. Works like the Vita Philonidis or Carneiscus’ Philistas can be seen as continuations of this tradition, which probably provided later Epicureans with new role models. See De Sanctis (2016), 83–92 for the idea of imitatio Epicuri in the Vita Philonidis. 25 Cf. Gigante (1983), 111; Delattre (2003). The latter provides a detailed study of the occurrences of these and similar terms in Epicurean texts and in Philodemus’ writings in particular.

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list of statements with regard to the sage, generally following the formula ‘the sage will (not) …’, and sometimes accompanied by an additional proviso which allows the sage to deviate from the standard course of action when circumstances demand it.26 As Geert Roskam has demonstrated, Epicureanism is a qualifying philosophy.27 It formulates general rules, but keeps always in mind that specific situations require their own approach and that the pursuit of happiness trumps the strict adherence to rules. The Epicurean rational calculus, the process of balancing the drawbacks and benefits of every action, is the yardstick of every decision.28 If it is in a certain situation more beneficial for one’s happiness to diverge from the Epicurean guideline, one should by all means follow the outcome of one’s rational calculus, even if it leads to a prima facie ‘un-Epicurean’ course or action. For example, the sage will not normally marry or rear a family, but if special circumstances make it useful or necessary to do so anyway, he will marry.29 Nor again will he under normal circumstances enter the political arena, which is, after all, a dangerously exposed area, where one can expect to be troubled by cumbersome tasks and the hatred and envy of one’s political opponents. Yet, in spite of this general rule, the sage might engage in politics anyway if his personal situation requires him to do so.30 Consider in this respect Epicurus’ advise to the influential statesman Idomeneus. The latter is admonished to abandon politics in favor of a thoroughly Epicurean life, but is warned not to do so prematurely, as the unpleasant repercussions of an abrupt departure might outweigh the potential benefits of a private life. Instead, he should stay in the political arena until an opportunity presents itself to disentangle himself from the duties and expectations of public life without being harmed in the process.31 Epicurus does not want people to uproot their lives, but simply wishes to help them lead whatever life they have in the best possible way. There is no need to explore the provisional nature of Epicurus’ individual precepts in detail here. It suffices to note that the Epicureans kept the imperfections and exigencies of human reality firmly in mind when they theorized about the moral ideals. More important to note is the fact that these qualifications of Epicurean precepts pertain to the sage himself, rather than merely to the Epicurean in general. In other words, 26 27 28 29

D.L. 10.117–120. Roskam (2007a), 148 and passim. Epic., Ep. Men. 130–132. D.L. 10.119. For Epicurus’ view on marriage, see Arkins (1984); Brown (1987), 118–122; Brennan (1996), 348–350; Bellandi (2004); Roskam (2020). 30 Sen., Dial. 8.3.2 (= Epic. fr. 9 Us.). See also Cic., Rep. 1.10; 11; Plut., Adv. Col. 1125C (= Epic. fr. 554 Us.). 31 Sen., Ep. 22.5–6 (= Epic. fr. 155 Us.); cf. Roskam (2007a), 48–19; Erbì (2015).

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Epicurus does not say that the politician or married man can merely become passable Epicureans. Instead, he suggests that, although a political career or marriage are often detrimental to one’s chances of happiness, politicians and family men may still become real sages. The possibility to achieve sagehood is not limited to aspiring Epicureans whose lives can easily be adapted to the Epicurean ideal. It would seem that, at least in principle, anyone has the possibility to successfully pursue wisdom, even if their initial point of departure is less than ideal.32 In sum, although the ideal Epicurean sage is, in all likelihood, a tranquil philosopher, who enjoys an unnoticed life of uninterrupted leisure in a lush garden, there might, in principle, also be sages who are engaged in politics, own an estate, or, for all we know, sell fruit and vegetables on the market, but who are, nevertheless, no less wise than their leisurely colleague. We will, however, consider the strengths and limitations of this remarkable approach in more detail in the final chapter of this book. 2.2.3 The Feasibility of Sagehood 2.2.3.1 Διάθεσις and Easy Life Choices The key element in our evolution towards sagehood is the state of our mental disposition (διάθεσις).33 Vices and extreme passions result from a flawed mental disposition, whereas good behavior, wisdom, and the ensuing state of happiness flow forth from a healthy one. Because Epicureanism is a thoroughly materialistic philosophy, the human διάθεσις should be assessed from both an ethical and a physical perspective. It does not only pertain to our receptiveness for correct ethical concepts and our ability to apply sober reasoning, but appears also closely connected to the physical arrangement of our soul’s atoms. A faulty arrangement will cause moral afflictions and all the misery that it entails, while a correct disposition enables us to achieve wisdom. Some people are fortunate enough to be born with a physical makeup (σύστασις) that entails a relatively correct mental disposition, whereas others are regrettably cursed with an innate inclination towards irascibility, arrogance, obsequiousness, or other vices. The good news, however, is that our lives need not be predetermined by our innate mental constitution. There are, undoubtedly, many things in the world that are subject to the agency of chance, but, fortunately, our mental disposition, which is the very key to our happiness, is completely under our

32 Cf. Sen., Ep. 52.3–4. 33 Important studies on the Epicurean conceptualization of διάθεσις can be found in DeWitt (1954), 252–255; Diano (1974); Grilli (1983); Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 91–94.

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own control.34 We are forced to depart from whatever hand nature has dealt us and for some of us it requires much more effort to rectify our disposition.35 Yet, with the help of Epicurean doctrine, a good teacher, and sufficient commitment to our goal, we should all be able to overcome our innate disadvantages. This does not mean that the pursuit of wisdom will erase our individual characters and turn us all into identical sages. Faint traces of our original mental arrangements will endure and will color our character in distinctive, yet for the achievement of wisdom entirely inconsequential ways.36 In order to become wise, we merely have to accept some basic truths about ourselves and the world around us and take these into account at all times.37 We need to learn the irrationality of our fears and accept that not every desire should be fulfilled. What makes it even easier to become a sage is the fact that we do not need to acquire anything that is hard to obtain. We do not need immense wealth or noble birth, nor great erudition.38 Nor does it require hard work to acquire whatever we need to be happy. These things are, after all, easy to obtain, while anything that requires excessive toil is by default best left alone.39 Straightforward rational thought on the basis of some clear-cut truths is our guarantee of success. Epicurean sagehood, then, is essentially a matter of accepting simple truths and using sober reasoning, which should be feasible for almost anyone, irrespective of their background or native character traits. If whatever is in line with nature is by definition easy to acquire, it would seem that sagehood itself, which amounts to a life in complete accordance with the natural τέλος, must also be easy to achieve. Moreover, as soon as sagehood has been reached, a relapse towards a lesser level of wisdom is by definition

34 Diog. Oen. fr. 112.1–3: τὸ κεφάλαιον τῆς εὐδαιμονίας ἡ διάθεσις, ἧς ἡμεῖς κύριοι. 35 Cf. Sen., Ep. 52.4. 36 DRN 3.306–322: sic hominum genus est: quamvis doctrina politos // constituat pariter quosdam, tamen illa relinquit // naturae cuiusque animi vestigia prima. // (…) illud in his rebus video firmare potesse, // usque adeo naturarum vestigia linqui // parvola quae nequeat ratio depellere nobis, // ut nil inpediat dignam dis degere vitam: ‘It is the same with human beings. Although education may give certain people equal refinement, it cannot obliterate the original traces of each individual’s natural disposition. (…) What I see that I can affirm in this connection is that the surviving traces of our natural dispositions, which philosophy is unable to erase, are so very faint that there is nothing to prevent us from living a life worthy of the gods’ (transl. Smith (2001)). 37 Cf. Epic., Ep. Men. 135. 38 In fact, παιδεία is even frowned upon as a potential hindrance to the achievement of wisdom: see e.g. D.L. 10.6; Plut., Non posse 1094D; Athen., Deipn. 13.588A (= Epic. fr. 117 Us.). 39 KD 21.

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impossible.40 All sages are equally wise (D.L. 10.120) and may rest assured that their blissful state of perfection will last for the rest of their lifespan. 2.2.3.2 Basic Requirements However, the fact that Epicurean sagehood is universally feasible in theory does not mean that we should expect literally everyone to actually become wise. Despite the radicality of many of his philosophical views, Epicurus was well aware of the many practical limitations that life tends to impose upon us. That is probably the reason why he also states that sagehood will not emerge from every constitution, nor in every nation.41 It would seem that there are some basic requirements of practical nature which need to be met first. Because people are not born with a wise disposition,42 a solid Epicurean education tends to be necessary.43 We require, therefore, access to Epicurean teachers and/or entry-level Epicurean texts. Apart even from the physical availability of these resources, this also places another important requirement upon ourselves. Although we do not need to be intellectuals to accept Epicurean salvation, we do need to be literate. Sextus Empiricus reports that Epicurus insisted on this particular point:44 συμφώνως γὰρ κατὰ πάντας ἐστὶ χρειώδης, ἐν οἷς θετέον καὶ τὸν Ἐπίκουρον, εἰ καὶ δοκεῖ τοῖς ἀπὸ τῶν μαθημάτων διεχθραίνειν· ἐν γοῦν τῷ περὶ δώρων καὶ χάριτος ἱκανῶς πειρᾶται διδάσκειν ὅτι ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστι τοῖς σοφοῖς μανθάνειν γράμματα. For it (sc. literacy) is acclaimed by all as useful, even by Epicurus, in spite of his apparent enmity towards the professors of the liberal studies. In his work On Gifts and Gratitude he makes a good job of teaching that it is necessary for wise men to learn letters. 40 D.L. 10.117. 41 D.L. 10.117. Compare also Diogenes of Oenoanda’s fr. 56 on the prospect of an Epicurean Golden Age when the whole world will be populated with sages. In Nijs (2019) I argue that this fragment envisages a scenario which is theoretically possible and pleasant to contemplate, without making any concrete assumptions about its practical realization. 42 Cf. Phld., Stoici 11.17–20. 43 Apart of course from those happy few, like Epicurus himself, who found their way to wisdom on their own accord (cf. Sen., Ep. 52.3). Epicurus firmly declared himself an autodidact (D.L. 10.13) and insulted Nausiphanes (D.L. 10.8), who is elsewhere named as one of his teachers (D.L. 10.13). On Epicurean education, see Asmis (2001). 44 Sext. Emp., M. 1.49; transl. Blank (1998).

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The same idea is voiced in Philodemus’ De ira:45 καθάπ[ε]ρ γὰρ χωρὶς τοῦ γράμματα μαθεῖν οὐχ οἷόν τ[ε] {μαθεῖν οὐχ οἷόν τε} γενέσθαι σοφόν, ἀλλ᾿ οὐκ, εἰ γράμματά τις ἔμαθεν, ἐποισθήσεται τὸ καὶ {τὸν} σοφὸν αὐτὸν ὑπάρχειν. For just as without learning one’s letters it is not possible to become a sage, but if someone has learned his letters, it will not be concluded that he is also a sage. Even if someone were to provide us with oral instruction, we should bear in mind that Epicurean education traditionally requires the literal memorization and interiorization of a series of core precepts. This would surely make it very difficult for an illiterate to become a good Epicurean, let alone an actual sage.46 Literacy, then, is a necessary condition for sagehood, although, of course, not every person who knows how to read and write is by definition a sage. In fact, it seems likely that μανθάνειν γράμματα does not merely point to literacy in general. ‘Learning one’s letters’ amounts, in all likelihood, to ‘learning the letters of the Greek alphabet’.47 Leaving aside Lucretius’ poem and boorish Latin Epicureans like Amafinius and Rabirius,48 Epicurean philosophers and their works are, as far as we can tell, exclusively Greek. This means that even a perfectly literate Scythian or Syrian would be completely unable to enjoy the benefits of Epicurean doctrine if he has not also mastered the Greek language. Translating Epicurean texts into other languages might seem an obvious solution to this problem, but entails difficulties of its own. It remains to be seen whether any given ancient language would possess an adequate vocabulary to accommodate the technicalities and nuances of Greek philosophical terminology. The translation of philosophical terms into Latin was already considered a strenuous task which confronted the translator with the many limitations of 45 Ira 49.33–39; transl. Armstrong  – McOsker (2020). A similar point might be made in Adversus 16.16–18. 46 Cf. Roskam (2015), 153 with regard to the addressees of the Epicurean inscription in Oenoanda. 47 In the case of non-native speakers like Piso and other Romans, ‘learning the Greek letters’ entails, no doubt, also learning the meaning of the words and sentences that are built with them. 48 Cf. Cic., Acad. 1.5; Tusc. 4.6. On the popularity of these early Latin Epicureans, see e.g. Howe (1951); Boyancé (1960), 501; Paratore (1973), 150; Gigante (1983), 25–34; Castner (1988), xiii–xiv; MacGillivray (2015).

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the Latin language, as we learn from Cicero and Lucretius.49 Considering that Latin and Greek are still fairly closely related languages, one can only image how difficult it would have been to translate Epicurean doctrine into, let us say, the Scythian or Punic language. In this light, it is perhaps unsurprising that, in a time when Roman Hellenophiles were still non-existent, Epicurus reportedly stated that only the Greeks were capable of philosophizing.50 We should also not forget that, according to Philodemus, even the gods themselves spoke Greek or something very similar to it.51 Greek is the language of the blissful and wise and whatever instruction leads to that blessed state is, ideally, written in Greek.52 In theory, then, barbarians might also be able to become wise Epicureans, but in reality the fact that they lack a solid grasp of Greek forms an insurmountable obstacle, regardless of what their dispositional traits might be. Language is at least one practical element that might significantly limit the universal achievability of sagehood. This raises the question whether there might be other such practical prerequisites and hindrances and whether some of these factors might pertain to the circumstances of one’s daily life, rather than to the general accessibility of Epicurean philosophy itself. This is an issue that we will revisit in the final section of this book. 2.2.4 Philodemus’ Use of the Sage as a Role Model In the following chapters, we will investigate how the figure of the sage as a role model emerges throughout Philodemus’ ethical writings. In light of the aforementioned plurality of terms which the Epicureans use to refer to the sage, it would be a mistake to focus only on literal occurrences of the word σοφός. Instead, we will take into account the wide array of terms which indicate the sage, the Epicurean philosopher, and even simply the good Epicurean. Nor should we overlook Philodemus’ more general claims and advices about 49 Lucr., DRN 1.136–145; Cic., Fin. 3.15. Although he admits that he is sometimes forced to use several Latin words to render a single Greek concept, Cicero maintains elsewhere that the Latin language is, in fact, perfectly suited to the expression of philosophical thought (Fin. 1.4–10). He goes even so far as to claim that the Latin vocabulary is richer than its Greek counterpart (Fin. 1.10). For Cicero’s methods and difficulties in translating Greek philosophy into Latin, see Powell (1995); Reinhardt (2005); Blyth (2010/2011); Baltussen (2011); Glucker (2012); Roskam (2022), 24. For Lucretius’ Latinization of Epicureanism, see Sedley (2004), 35–61; Garani (2007). 50 Clem. Al., Strom. 1.15 (= Epic. fr. 226 Us.). 51 Di 3.14.6–8. 52 Cf. Di 3.14.12–13.

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correct behavior and appropriate emotional responses.53 Even if Philodemus does not always tell us in an explicit way that his statements pertain to the sage, there is no reason to doubt that these correct emotions and attitudes are characteristic of the perfect Epicurean, who has, after all, acquired the ability to lead his entire life rationally and in complete accordance with nature. 53 Cf. Delattre (2003), 234.

Chapter 3

A Sociable Fellow and a Good Friend ἡ φιλία περιχορεύει τὴν οἰκουμένην κηρύττουσα δὴ πᾶσιν ἡμῖν ἐγείρεσθαι ἐπὶ τὸν μακαρισμόν Sententiae Vaticanae 52

∵ 3.1

The Avoidance of Social Isolation

3.1.1 Introduction There is a number of paths that can lead to social isolation. First of all, someone might, for some reason, actually want to achieve such a state. He might simply prefer a hermits’ life over being part of society, a sentiment shared by many an Early Christian ascetic, passing his days in an abandoned cave somewhere in the desert, in search of a progressive likeness to God. Others might seek isolation because they simply dislike having to interact with other people.1 Far less desirable is it, no doubt, to have social isolation imposed upon oneself against one’s own will. Philoctetes’ lonely years of exile on Lemnos spring to mind,2 as well as the fate of every shipwrecked sailor who finds himself stranded on an uninhabited island. Yet, such dramatic events and remote locations are hardly necessary conditions for social isolation. It is, after all, entirely possible to live in the midst of society, surrounded by an abundance of people, only to be shunned by every single one of them, on account of the dislike that they feel for one’s character and behavior. It is probably safe to say that this sort of loneliness is no lesser evil than that which was experienced by the likes of Philoctetes or Robinson Crusoe. It seems obvious, then, that the Epicureans, who are, after all, perpetually concerned with the pursuit of happiness, would carefully try to avoid each 1 Notoriously misanthropic characters such as Cnemon from Menander’s Dyscolus and the Athenian Timon are, no doubt, some of the most famous examples of this. 2 In Sophocles’ tragedy, he laments his exile, calling himself a “wretched, lonely, forsaken, and friendless man” (Soph., Phil. 227–228).

© Wim Nijs, 2024 | doi:10.1163/9789004685338_004

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and every one of these types of social isolation. As a rule, the Epicurean sage will surround himself with people and steer well clear of the dismal fate of those who have become outcasts as a result of their unpleasant personality. The social isolation of the sage’s antitheses, the vice-riddled fools, are a recurring theme in Philodemus’ De ira and De superbia. Although their cases do not directly concern the sage, they highlight the latter’s comparative happiness and offer a clear illustration of the reasons for which he should avoid social isolation and pursue friendship. In what follows, we will first take a look at the vicissitudes of the arrogant and irascible fools. This exemplum e contrario will serve as a preamble to our subsequent discussion of the sage’s sociability. 3.1.2 The Relationship between Vice and Social Isolation Of all the vices that Philodemus describes, irascibility and arrogance are two sicknesses of the soul that are explicitly treated as afflictions that are very likely to obstruct ties of friendship. Thus, they may lead to social isolation. As far as the Epicureans are concerned, all vices and immoderate passions originate from a wrong mental disposition or διάθεσις and involve a set of false beliefs about nature which render a proper rational appraisal of the world around us impossible.3 Arrogance, for instance, is caused by a wrong opinion about one’s own worth and the relative worth of others.4 The arrogant person believes that his own character, opinions, and deeds are by definition superior to those of others, a false premise upon which he bases his right to treat other people with disdain and to reject their advice, even if it pertains to matters of which he himself has very little knowledge.5 The irascible person, on the other hand, harbors false beliefs with regard to what kind of experiences are correctly met with anger, and which are not. Philodemus distinguishes between natural anger and empty anger, the former of which may also be felt by the sage, as it does not cause a great or prolonged disturbance, whereas the latter is to be avoided.6 Natural anger can be felt when one suffers intentional harm at the hands of someone else and on the condition that some sort of angry reaction or revenge can effectively prevent further harm from this wrongdoer.7 In cases in which becoming angry is useless and revenge is either impossible, or ineffective, one should not indulge in angry 3 See also Diano (1974); Grilli (1983) and Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 91–94. 4 Sup. 8.11–12; 9.1–4; 10–11. 5 This is especially true for the so-called ‘know-it-all’ (παντήδημων), a ‘blended’ character in whom arrogance is a dominant vice: Sup. 18.11–38. 6 Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 40–45, Verde (2020a), 213–217. See section 5.2.2. 7 Ira 38.18–34; 41.1–31.

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impulses.8 The irascible person, however, lacks a correct understanding of all this and is wont to experience not only natural anger, but also its sinister twin, empty anger, which is irrational, completely unnecessary, and even downright harmful. Fortunately, these faulty dispositions can be remedied, even if one is by nature more inclined towards certain vices or passions.9 An effective treatment consists in two elements: acquiring a correct image of the world around oneself by embracing Epicurean doctrine, and the continuous application of sober reasoning (νήφων λογισμός) to all situations one encounters and all choices one has to make.10 However, before any of this can happen, one needs to become aware of one’s own failings and accept that it is really necessary to make an effort in order to turn one’s diseased διάθεσις into a healthy one, or, as the Epicurean saying reported by Seneca has it: Initium est salutis notitia peccati.11 It is for this reason that Philodemus implements passages in which he applies the technique of setting-before-the-eyes.12 This entails that he vividly evokes the image of a person who suffers from a certain sickness of the soul, while emphasizing how devastating this sickness can eventually become for such a person’s physical and psychological wellbeing. These passages serve a very important therapeutic function: their purpose is to achieve a sort of shock effect, which should eventually facilitate the notitia peccati. Yet, accepting that one needs treatment and tolerating that treatment is already problematic in itself for persons who suffer from arrogance or anger. Both the arrogant and the irascible man are very difficult students, and, therefore, they often prove to be almost incorrigible, despite the Epicurean teacher’s best efforts. Philodemus comments as follows on the case of the arrogant person:13 καὶ [τ]ῶν φι[λ]οσόφων δὲ καθυπερηφανεῖ, περὶ ὧν ἀποπληξία λέ[γε]ιν ὥς εἰσιν ἐπιτήδειοι καταφρονεῖσθαι· And he disdains the philosophers, although it is madness to say that they deserve to be despised.

8 See section 5.2.2.3. 9 Cf. Lucr., DRN 3.307–322. 10 Epic., Ep. Men. 132; Phld., Elect. et fugae 13. On νήφων λογισμός, see Erler (2010) and Verde (2013). 11 Sen., Ep. 28.9. 12 See Tsouna (2003). 13 Sup. 4.22–26. The Greek text has been drawn from Indelli (2010).

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Because the arrogant person is confident of his own superior wisdom, he firmly believes that the philosophers cannot teach him anything at all. As a result, the idea of undergoing philosophical therapy is rejected beforehand. In the next column, Philodemus adds that this aversion to feedback extends to anyone who tries to teach them anything at all: the arrogant person does not tolerate people who would lecture him (διδάσκοντες).14 He does not accept any point of criticism of his character or behavior that might help him to get rid of his vice, because he is firmly convinced that he is better than whoever is trying to criticize him. All views that are at odds with his own, are by definition irrelevant. The irascible person’s reaction to the necessary treatment appears to be even worse, as appears from the following passage in Philodemus’ De ira:15 ἀπροβάτους δ’αὐτοὺς ἀνάγκη γίνεσθαι καὶ τῶι μήτε καθηγητὰς ἀνέχεσθαι μήτε συσχολάζοντας, ἂν ἐπιτιμῶσι καὶ διορθῶσιν – ὡς τὰ [θ]ηριώδη τῶν ἑλκῶν οὐδὲ τὰς τῶν ἠπιωτάτων φαρμάκων ὑπομένει προσαγωγάς – ἀλλὰ κἂν ἑτέροις ἐπιπλήττωσιν, ἀλογώτατα πρὸς ἑαυτοὺς ὐποπτεύειν ἀεὶ τὰ πάντα λέγεσθαι – μήτε [τ]οῦ διὰ συζητήσεως μετέχειν ἀγαθοῦ· τοῦτο μὲν οὐδενὸς ὑπομένοντος συνκαταβαίνειν, τοῦτο δ’, ἂν εὕρωσι, τῶν διερεθισμῶν οὐχ οἷον ἀνεπ[ι]στάτους παρεχομένων, ἀλλὰ καὶ μέχρ[ι τοῦ] ἐκτρέχ[ειν ἀπὸ τοῦ φιλ]τάτου τὴν ε[ὐθεῖαν] καὶ λοιδορεῖν [.....]. They necessarily become incapable of progress because they can put up with neither their teachers nor their fellow students, whenever these rebuke and correct them, just as the malignant kinds of ulcers cannot endure the application of even the mildest medicines, but whenever they (sc. the teachers) reprove others (sc. students), they necessarily suspect, most unreasonably, that everything is always being said against themselves – nor can they share in the good of studying together: for one thing, because no one can endure associating with them, and for another, even if they find (someone who can endure it), their irritations not only make them inattentive, but even to the point of running away [from their dearest friend] straight down the road?]… and reviling. The irascible person is always keeping an eye out for anything that might even remotely resemble an attack on his own person. His immediate reaction to any such perceived attack or slight is to respond angrily. Thus, he fails to take into account the kind intentions of others who voice frank criticism as a way of 14 Sup. 5.31–34. 15 Ira 19.12–20.3; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020).

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making him aware of his own failings. Sages, fellow students, and close friends can do all they want, but as soon as such a person’s anger gets the better of him, he becomes unreceptive of their comments and may even go so far as to physically remove himself from their presence, cutting short his treatment.16 Yet, if he gives up, and chooses to end the treatment prematurely, he will, according to Philodemus, live an extraordinarily unhappy life which has a high chance of ending violently.17 Ultimately, for both the arrogant and the irascible person, the only real cure for their malady lies in gaining a correct understanding of matters, and learning to use it as a basis for a correct application of reason in every situation. As long as their afflictions last, both these types of people are in danger of becoming socially isolated. Citing Aristo,18 Philodemus has the following to say about the arrogant person’s case:19 παρυπομιμνήσκειν δὲ καὶ τ[oῦ] περὶ τὰς π[ρ]άξεις ἁμαρτωλοῦ τῶν μόνων, ἐπιτευκτικοῦ δὲ τῶν συνεργουμένων ὑφ᾿ἑνὸς καὶ πλειόνων. ὁ γὰρ ὑπερήφανος οὔτε συνπαραληπτικὸς ἑτέρων, ἅμα μὲν ὑπ᾿ οἰήσεως, ἅμα δὲ διὰ τὸ τοὺς ἄλλους ὑπερφρονεῖν, ἄν τε παρακαλῇ, χαλεπῶς ὑπακούειν διά τε τὴν ἄλλην ἀηδίαν καὶ διὰ τὸ τὰς πράξεις ἐξιδ[ι]άζε[σθ]αι θέλειν, εἶτ᾿ ἀσυνέργη[τ]ος ὤν· πολλοὺς δὲ τοὺς π[α]ρατηροῦ[ν]τας καὶ ὑποσκελίζοντας συνηρανικὼς κατὰ λόγον διαπίπτει, κἄπειτα κουφίζεται τῆς ὑπε[ρ]ηφανίας, ἐπεὶ διὰ τῶν λόγων οὐ [β]ούλεται, διὰ τῶν ἀποτεύξεων· (Aristo says that one is) to bear in mind also that people who go it alone are prone to failure in their actions, and that people who let themselves be assisted by one or more others are likely to succeed. For the arrogant person tends not to call in the help of others, partly from self-conceit, partly because he looks down on the others, and if he does call (them) 16 Philodemus was well aware of the fact that as a teacher of philosophy, one sometimes has to deal with students who respond angrily to frank speech, and he may even have suggested strategies to remedy such situations: cf. Lib. dic. fr. 70 and fr. 87. Of course, occasional outbursts of anger and chronic irascibility are not quite the same thing, and the latter clearly poses a much more serious problem for both the student and his teacher. 17 See, for example, Ira 11.5–21; 12.30–13.27; 24.17–36. 18 The second part of De superbia consists in a lengthy summary of a work on arrogance, possibly entitled Περὶ τοῦ κουφίζειν ύπερηφανίας, written by either the Peripatetic Aristo of Ceos (cf. e.g. Tsouna (2006) and (2007), 143), or the Stoic Aristo of Chios (cf. Ranocchia (2006)). More important for the present argument is the fact that Philodemus appears to be in complete agreement with those parts of Aristo’s assessment of the vice of arrogance which he integrates in his own treatise De superbia. 19 Sup. 14.2–22. The text is that of Ranocchia (2007a). Translation by Stork et al. (2006).

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in for help, he finds it difficult to heed advice, both because he is hard to please anyway and especially on account of wishing to claim the actions as his own, thus being impossible to cooperate with. And having gathered a large collection of people who watch him closely and are eager to trip him up, he falls flat, as is to be expected, and then he is relieved of his arrogance through his failures, because he is unwilling to be (relieved) by the words (of those around him). Arrogant people tend to push other people away because they believe that these are unworthy of them and have nothing useful to offer. The unpleasant consequence of their behavior is that, eventually, people will just wait for them to fail, so that they can ridicule them. They are also wont to excite feelings of envy and malicious joy in others.20 Ultimately, no help will be forthcoming when the arrogant person will actually need it. The only consolation here is that the highly unpleasant and degrading experience of failing and becoming the object of people’s Schadenfreude, may sometimes cure one’s arrogance. The question remains, of course, at what terrible cost it is that this cure has been administered. Moreover, the arrogant person’s contempt for everyone else causes him to fail miserably in his duties towards his friends and relatives:21 χαλεπὸν γὰρ ἂν [εἴη] καὶ σπάνιον ὑπολαμβάνεσθαι του ...... μετὰ λ[ό]γου[...... κ]αὶ τ[ὸ] την. ..... καὶ τὸ σύννου[ν] καὶ [τ]ὸ κατὰ τὰς ἀπαντήσεις εὐπροσήγορον δι[α]φυλάττειν· καὶ τὸ πρὸ[ς] τοὺς φίλους ἐν τοῖς ἔξωθεν ἴσον εἶναι τῶν ἄλλων ἐπι[…]ελόντων καὶ τοῖς ἐσ ....... .ει παρὰ [φίλ]ου δεομένο[υ. ... μεν ἄλυπον [εἶν]αι. For it would be difficult and rare to suppose that [arrogance] goes together with reason, and that he would continuously maintain the [friendship], the thoughtfulness, and the courtesy in meetings; and also that he would be equal to his friends in matters that do not concern himself, while the 20 Sup. 12.12–36. The relationship between arrogance and envy is here described as ὀφθαλμία τις ψυχῆς, a sort of eye-disease, in the sense that the envious person’s vice is inevitably triggered by the mere sight of arrogance; cf. Plut., De inv. et od. 537A, where the same image is used (see also Van Meirvenne (2002), 144–153 for the connection between eye-disease and frank speech in Plutarch). Clearly, chance is an external factor which has an enormous impact on the arrogant person; cf. Tsouna (2007), 155–158. The Epicurean view that the agency of chance should always be reduced to an absolute minimum is well attested: cf. Epic., Ep. Men. 133–135; Diog. Oen. fr. 71 I–II. See also Verde (2013); Heßler (2014), 294–324 and Nijs (2023). 21 Sup. 8.21–34. Text by Jensen (1911).

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others (one word missing) and from a friend who makes a request (two words missing) not to be in pain. With his behavior, the arrogant person undermines everything that makes normal interaction and mutual affection possible. He is unable to form proper relationships with other people because he fails to value them, underestimating the benefits he might derive from consorting with them in a friendly manner. Ultimately, others become so fed up with him that they find themselves unwilling to do anything that might even remotely benefit this vexatious person. He is shunned, and the help and kindness which he originally despised will even be withheld if he should ask for it. The irascible person, on the other hand, unwittingly drives people away with his irrational and profoundly unpleasant behavior. Philodemus elaborately describes the effect that this person’s actions have on the way he is treated by others:22 τί γὰρ δεῖ λέγειν τὸ πολλοὺς ε`ὐ´θέτους ὄντας εἰς φιλίαν, μήπω δὲ παρειλημμένους, ἄ[σ]τροις σημαίνεσθαι τὴν καὶ μόνον πρόσοδον καὶ θεωρίαν τῶν τοιούτων; ὑπομένει δ᾿αὐτοῖς οὐδὲ συμβουλεῦσαί γε τῶν ὁπωσδήποτ᾿ αὐτοῖς προσηκόντων οὐδείς, οὔτε αὐτόκλητος οὔτε παραληφθείς, ἐφ᾿ ἑ[κάσ]το[υς ἐρε]θ[υ]ιζομένοις [ἢ μι]σουμένοις ἐπαμύ[νειν κ]αιροῦ τε παραπε[σόντος κ]αὶ συνεπιτί[θεσθαι]. Why should I say that many who are well-suited to friendship but have not yet become firm friends want to reckon even the approach and the sight of such people by the stars? Not one of those who have any relationship to them whatsoever wants even to give them advice, whether spontaneously or by request, irritated as they are with everyone, or to defend them when they are hated and, when occasion arises, to join with them in attack.23 For an Epicurean reader, the mere fact that someone would scare away prospective friends who are, moreover, εὔθετοι,24 is no doubt shocking in its own right, let alone that one would sour one’s existing relationships.25 The willingness to help each other is the very foundation upon which the whole edifice 22 Ira 20.28–21.4. Transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020). 23 Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 229, n. 129 suggest that ἐπιτίθεσθαι could also be interpreted as “to join with them in their defense”. 24 Cf. Lib. dic. 5a.5–6: οἱ πρὸς εὔνοιαν καὶ φιλίαν εὔθετοι. 25 For the hyperbole ἄστροις σημαίνεσθαι, and a series of parallels, see Indelli (1988), 188.

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of Epicurean friendship rests.26 Therefore, the fact that the irascible person’s friends will eventually refuse to give him advice, even if he were to ask for it, is in itself a clear indication that, as far as Philodemus and his fellow Epicureans are concerned, these friendships have already ceased to be deserving of that name. The situation become even more grim in what follows:27 [μὴ δια]γ[αγ]όντες ζωὴν ι[..]νον τῶν οἰκείων ἐξ ἑ[κ]άστου χρει[ῶ]ν ἀτευκτοῦσ[ι] μᾶλλ[ον] δὲ καὶ τῆς ἄνευ φιλίας καὶ συγγενείας ἐπιπλοκῆς ἐν`ί´οις καὶ συλλαλήσεως διαγωγὴν ἐχούσης καὶ μάλιστα τοῖς ἰδιώταις ἐστέρηνται. τοσοῦτο γὰρ ἕκαστος ἀπολείπει τοῦ προσπελάζειν τοῖς τοιούτοις ὁμειλήσων, ὡς καὶ φεύγει περιληφθεὶς ἀπὸ τύχης ἐν κο[υ]ρείοις ἢ μυροπωλίοις [ὴ] συμποσίοις ἢ παρακαθίσας ἐν θεάτροις ὡς κύων τετοκυῖα· παραπλησίω[ς δ]ὲ οὐδ᾿ εἰς ταὐτο τολμαῖ π[λ]οῖον [ἐ]μβαίνειν οὐδὲ γειτονεύειν· ἔα γὰρ ⟦τ⟧ τὸ κοινωνεῖν τινος ἢ πρός τι τοιοῦτο συνκαταβαίνειν [........ [By not having led] their life … they fail to meet their own needs from anyone, or rather, they are deprived of even that involvement and conversation  – without friendship or kinship  – with others that provides entertainment, particularly for normal people. Everyone avoids approaching such people to converse with them to such an extent that they run away when by chance (such a person) is encountered in barber shops or perfume shops or at drinking parties or has sat down in the next seat in a theater “like a bitch that has just given birth”. Similarly, no one dares to embark on the same ship or live next door, let alone engage in a business deal or go along with them in some such thing. The picture that Philodemus paints here is quite dismal: absolutely no one wishes to be around the sort of person that can be characterized with the highly unflattering image of a snarling dog (κύων τετοκυῖα).28 Existing relations will 26 SV 23: Πᾶσα φιλία δι᾿ἑαυτὴν αἱρετή· ἀρχὴν δὲ εἴληφεν ἀπὸ τῆς ὠφελείας. This saying is not unproblematic, and some have argued that we should read δι’ ἑαυτὴν ἀρετή instead of the widely accepted emendation δι’ ἑαυτὴν αἱρετή, first printed in Wotke – Usener (1888). Notably O’Keefe (2001) and Brown (2002) have argued against the emendation. Brown (2002) 68–69, n. 1 provides an elaborate list of scholars who have defended Usener’s emendation. See also Essler (2012), 145–147. Either way the affirmation that Epicurean friendship originates in mutual benefit is maintained. 27 Ira 21.16–40; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020). 28 For this image, see Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 231, n. 132, who believe that it might stem from some sort of hexametric proverb, now lost to us, which Philodemus’ ancient reader would immediately have recognized. See Nijs (forthc.) for some thoughts on the literary provenance of this imagery. Human ‘dogs’ were, of course, well known in Antiquity: the

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get fed up with his behavior and eventually break off all ties, while potential new relations and even complete strangers will avoid him altogether as soon as they find out what kind of person it is they are dealing with. This is no longer merely an inability to have friends, or even to have a normal relationship with family members: rather, this excludes the irascible person from being part of the polis or community in which he lives. He has become so insufferable that his fellow citizens deliberately begin to avoid him, to the point that his presence within the community begins to interfere with their own daily life: they put off visits to shops, they abandon the theatre seats which they had carefully chosen for themselves, they would even forego their place on a planned boat trip, all just to avoid being exposed to one person’s toxic behavior. It should be no surprise then, if, in the end, the irascible person finds himself in complete isolation, no longer welcome in the very community where he was born. Yet, as bleak as things already are, this is certainly not the end of his troubles, as appears from the following passage:29 παρακολουθεῖ δ᾿αὐτοῖς, κἂν μονότροπον ἔχωσι βίον, ὑπὸ τῆς ἐρημίας καὶ τῆς ἁρπαγῆς τῶν ὑπαρχό[ν]τ[ω]ν [κ]αὶ τῆς ὑφοράσεως τ[ῶ]ν κληρονόμων ἐγβά[λλ]εσθαι. And if they lead a solitary life, they come to be outcasts because of their isolation, the theft of their goods, and the suspicion of their heirs. Philodemus subtly reminds us here that social isolation is not without danger, and that having friends is an important factor in the achievement of personal security. From Lucretius’ description of early man, we know that the Epicureans considered the invention of friendship mankind’s first and foremost protection against the sort of unrelenting bloodshed that would otherwise have led to the premature extinction of the human race:30

Cynic philosophers were, no doubt, little more pleasant to be close to than Philodemus’ irascible person, on account of their ‘bite’ (not to mention their lack of good manners or decency). Yet, in light of the female participle τετοκυῖα, it is extremely unlikely that Philodemus might be thinking of Diogenes of Sinope and his fellow Cynics. More relevant might be the idea that the blindness of newborn puppies is comparable to that of θυμός (Gnom. Vat. 253; Sent. Pyth. 13). This idea fits Philodemus’ description of the irascible person who blindly lashes out at whomever he encounters. 29 Ira 22.24–31; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), with modification. 30 Lucr., DRN 5.1019–1027; transl. Smith (2001).

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Tunc et amicitiem coeperunt iungere aventes // finitimi inter se nec laedere nec violari, // et pueros commendarunt muliebreque saeclum, // vocibus et gestu cum balbe significarent // imbecillorum esse aequum misererier omnis. // nec tamen omnimodis poterat Concordia gigni, // sed bona magnaque pars servabat foedera caste; // aut genus humanum iam tum foret omne peremptum, // nec potuisset adhuc perducere saecla propago. It was then, too, that neighbors, in their eagerness neither to harm nor to be harmed, began to form mutual pacts of friendship, and claimed protection for their children and womenfolk, indicating by means of inarticulate cries and gestures that everyone ought to have compassion on the weak. Although it was not possible for concord to be achieved universally, the great majority kept their compacts loyally. Otherwise the human race would have been entirely extinguished at that early stage and could not have propagated and preserved itself to the present day. Clearly, the isolated irascible person is bereft of this protection and has, as we saw earlier, absolutely no one in his corner to help defend himself against his enemies, who, incidentally, tend to be quite numerous in the irascible person’s case.31 Of course, the isolated irascible person will still be somewhat safer than Lucretius’ first men. In every civilized society, a system of law and punishment guarantees that even an unpleasant fellow who has no friends or family cannot be murdered out in the streets, or at least not with impunity.32 Yet, Philodemus seems to suggest that without friends or family, one may still be placed outside civilized society altogether. It is in any case quite easy to see how any kind of adversity, be it natural or inflicted by one’s enemies, may already place such a person in a serious predicament, considering that no one is willing to help him in any way whatsoever. A short and badly preserved couple of lines in col. 24 of Philodemus’ treatise De ira may even add yet an extra dimension to this particular theme. Before Philodemus starts to describe how irascible people might be murdered by the 31 Cf. Phld., Ira 11.5–21; 12.30–13.27; 24.17–36. 32 The Epicureans rejected the idea that justice might be anything more than an arbitrary agreement, that derives its legitimacy from its usefulness and ceases to be just as soon as it loses that usefulness (cf. KD 3 and KD 37). Nevertheless, they made grateful use of society’s existing laws and penal system, because these enhanced their own safety from βλάβαι ἐξ ἀνθρώπων (D.L. 10.117).

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slaves they mistreated, he mentions συνασπίζειν, to share a shield in battle.33 In all likelihood, the message here was that, in battle, no one is willing to share a shield with the irascible person. If so, then this is yet another elucidation of the grave risks and hardships to which one is exposed when bereft of friendship or even of the goodwill of some of one’s fellow human beings. In war, one is, in a way, completely reduced to the precarious situation of Lucretius’ first men: there is literally nothing that will prevent other people from killing you in any way they see fit, and one of the very few things that stand between yourself and certain death, is your fellow soldiers’ willingness to include you in their system of reciprocal protection.34 What Philodemus appears to be saying here is that, in extreme cases, irascibility might eventually create a situation in which a person’s behavior has crushed any hope that he might still have had of being part of any kind of social fabric whatsoever, to such an extent that other people no longer even feel obliged to help keep him alive. Any moral duty they might still feel towards this person as a fellow soldier is outweighed by the fact that this disagreeable fellow is not only completely unable to be a proper brother in arms, but also very likely to become an utter liability on account of his irrational fits of rage.35 3.1.3 Conclusion Both character flaws, then, are exceptionally harmful, since they severely damage one of the core pillars of the Epicurean happy life: friendship. Philodemus makes it perfectly clear that those who mistreat their fellow human beings on account of false beliefs, will eventually end up as social outcasts, whose company has become unbearable to the rest of society. If their sickness of the soul remains uncured, an unhappy life and a miserable death will be their due. Of course, the arrogant person may survive his failure and being ridiculed by all who gladly watched him stumble, and the irascible person may be lucky enough not to die at the hands of his many enemies. Yet, in the end, they too must die, and when they do, there will be no friends to keep them company during their final moments, nor will they have many fond memories about 33 Ira 24.17. 34 For the importance of reciprocity in Ancient thought, see Gill (1998) and Konstan (1998). 35 Philodemus discusses in Ira 33.1–28 how irascibility is an undesirable characteristic in soldiers. Also relevant here is the passage in Ira 13.11–17, where he describes how irascible people are almost as likely to harm themselves as the enemy when they try to attack: ‘Why should I mention that they do not retreat but rush forward and, because of their distraction, sometimes crash into wooden barriers and walls and ditches or something like that?’ (transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020)). Compare the aforementioned blindness of both newly born dogs and θυμοί (Gnom. Vat. 253; Sent. Pyth. 13).

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happy moments spent in the company of friends. Epicurus himself famously wrote to his friend Idomeneus that the joyful memory of past conversations managed to block out all the pain that he was experiencing during those final moments.36 For the outcasts, however, there will be no such consolation, and their death will be nothing more than the desolate end of a miserable life. It would seem, then, that the Epicurean view on social isolation is quite straightforward: it is unpleasant and even downright dangerous. As far as Philodemus is concerned, the avoidance of social isolation in itself is already one the major motivations for radically ridding oneself of any vices and passions that might lead to such a state, for, indeed, no one in his right mind ought to be willing to risk losing friendship. The sage, then, is the exact opposite of the vice-plagued outcasts whom Philodemus describes in De ira and De superbia. Rather than to scare people away with his behavior, he treats them in a courteous and welcoming fashion and makes friends wherever he goes, as we will see in the following sections of this chapter. 3.2

Φιλανθρωπία and Sociability

The Epicurean sage is consistently characterized as a person who is not only wise and perfectly happy, but also very pleasant to deal with. Even though it is reported that Epicurus’ slanderers had a lot to say about the man’s hedonism and his sharp polemical attitude towards rival philosophers, Diogenes Laertius is quick to point out that Epicurus’ gentle nature and goodwill towards others is well-attested. Indeed, if we gather all textual evidence on the friendliness of Epicurus and the sage in general, we are presented with a plethora of terms which all point at the Epicurean sage’s outstanding qualities as a sociable human being. In extant Epicurean texts, the sage is praised for his considerateness (εὐγνωμοσύνη),37 his beneficence (εὐποιία),38 his profound commitment to friend­ship (φιλία)39 and the fact that his διάθεσις is cheerful (εὐήμερος), affectionate towards his friends (φιλόφιλος) and gentle (ἤπια).40 Other people’s 36 D.L. 10.22: ‘On this blissful day, which is also the last of my life, I write this to you. My continual sufferings from strangury and dysentery are so great that nothing could augment them; but over against them all I set gladness of mind at the remembrance of our past conversations’ (transl. Hicks (1931)). 37 D.L. 10.9. 38 D.L. 10.10. 39 E.g. KD 27 and 28. 40 Phld., Lib. dic. fr. 85.5–10.

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mental disposition might be wild and untamed, but the sage is said to be ἡμερώτατος καὶ ἐπιεικέστατος.41 Both terms refer directly to the sage’s civilized and reasonable character. At the same time, the term ἡμερώτατος marks a contrast with a disposition which has not yet been brought to heel by an experienced Epicurean teacher, who is, after all, characterized as a ‘tamer of people’ (ἀνθρωποδάμνης).42 This kind of terminology may also remind us of Lucretius’ description of the evolution of primitive humans, who gradually learned to emerge from the violent chaos and perpetual fear of an animal-like existence. They were able to transcend this deplorable way of life by virtue of their ability to reason about the advantages of having a sort of social contract which allowed them to live together with their fellow humans, without having to worry about being killed by them. In a way, this critical phase in humankind’s development is what distinguishes the ‘untamed’ animalistic humans of old from their descendants, who are better adapted to a more civilized life in human society. The sage, then, has finetuned his ability to move through human society to the point of perfection. He derives security from society’s laws and social conventions and behaves in a way which allows him to live among his fellow humans without being noticed in a negative way by them. Unlike people with an untamed disposition, who may frequently relapse into primitive man’s most vicious inclinations, the ἡμερώτατος sage has no business in the lawless wildernesses of prehistoric times where it is every man for himself. The natural habitat of the thoroughly domesticated sage lies at the heart of human society, where civilization and law and order rule supreme. He is rightly described as ἐπιεικέστατος, a term which has many fitting connotations. In the first place, the sage is highly reasonable and civilized and deals with people in a rational and morally impeccable way. In the most basic sense of the word, however, the sage is also most suited to the orderly human societies where he chooses to spend his days. Philodemus points out that being φιλάνθρωπος (a lover of people) and φιλοποιητικός (a friend-maker) are two essential qualities for whoever aspires to attain the sage’s blissful life.43 In what follows, we will consider the sage’s philanthropic disposition and his unassuming kindness towards others. Secondly, we look at those elements from Philodemus’ works, which are relevant for the sage’s activities as a ‘friend-maker’.

41 Ira 44.26–28. 42 Lib. dic. fr. 87N.5–6. He is to morally derailed humans what the horse-tamer (πωλοδάμνης) is to unruly colts. 43 Phld., Elect. et fugae 14.6; cf. D.L. 10.10.

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It is a well-known fact that Epicurus advised his followers to withdraw from the turmoil of public life and to live unnoticed instead.44 Yet, to do so one did not need to abandon one’s city and wander off into some remote area, hidden away in a stretch of uninhabited wilderness.45 The founding fathers of Epicureanism themselves were perfectly happy to live their “unnoticed life” in their Garden, on the outskirts of the Athenian polis, and very much in touch with acquaintances throughout the civilized world.46 Although the Epicurean sage lives an unnoticed life, this does not mean that he will hide behind the walls of his Garden with a couple of friends and refuse to interact with the people who do not belong to that privileged circle of Epicurean peers. The sage’s willingness to extend his hospitality to those wo are not (yet) Epicureans is documented by two passages from Philodemus’ oeuvre. In De superbia, Philodemus makes the claim about the sage’s friendliness and hospitality in general terms, whereas the practical application is to be found in a passage from his De Epicuro. Let us first turn to his words in De superbia:47 μηδὲ δ[υσ]πρόσδεκτον εἰς ο[ἰκί]αν καὶ ὁμιλίαν καὶ τῶν λοιπῶν μετάδοσιν· μη[δ]ὲ ἀναξίους ἀποφαίν[ειν ἑ]αυτοῦ πάντας and he is not reluctant to make (others) welcome to his home, his company, and the sharing of the other things. And he does not declare all to be unworthy of him. This passage belongs to a section in which Philodemus contrasts the sage with the arrogant person, whom he has described earlier.48 While the arrogant person believes that all are beneath him and refuses to share his good fortune and possessions with them, the sage is happy to share things. He is willing to receive people as guests in his house and allows them to take part in his conversations. The term ὁμιλία is probably a reference to the Epicurean sage’s philosophical conversations with his friends, rather than to a mere chat on day-to-day topics.

44

See Roskam (2007a) and (2007b) for an in-depth study of this Epicurean precept and its polemical reception. 45 Cf. Roskam (2007a), 49–50. 46 Cf. Wycherley (1959); Clarke (1973); Long (1986), 316. 47 Sup. 9.7–10. Text by Indelli (2010). 48 This comparison between the perfect sage and the vice-plagued arrogant person is presented as a response to unnamed people who accuse the sage of arrogance on account of superficial similarities. See chapter seven for a detailed discussion of Philodemus’ apologetic tactics in this and similar passages.

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Amoroso notes that, since Aristotle, the term ὁμιλία had almost exclusively taken on the specific connotation of philosophical discussion.49 In De Epicuro, Philodemus includes an interesting passage on Epicurus’ banquets, which may help to shed light upon the aforementioned lines from De superbia:50 λέγει δὲ καλεῖν εὐωχ[εῖ]σθαι αὐτούς τε καλῶς καὶ τ[οὺ]ς ἄλλους τοὺς τε [κ]ατὰ τὴν οἰ[κίαν] ἅπαντας καὶ [τ]ῶν ἔξωθεν [μηδένα π]αραλείποντας, ὅσοι τ[ὰ]ς [εὐ]νοίας [καὶ τὰς] ἑαυτοῦ [κα]ὶ τὰ[ς τῶ]ν ἑαυ[τ]οῦ φίλων ἔχουσιν· οὐ γὰρ δημαγωγήσειν το[ῦ]το πράττοντας, τὴν κενὴν καὶ ἀφυσιολόγη[τ]ον δ[η]μαγ[ωη]ίαν, ἀλλ᾿ ἐν τοῖς τῆς φύσεω[ς οἰ]κείοις ἐνεργοῦντας μ[ν]η[σθ]ήσεσθαι πάντων τῶν τὰς εὐν[οίας] ἡμῖν ἐχόντων, ὅπως συ[γκαθ]αγίζωσιν τὰ ἐπὶ τῆι ἑαυτ[ῶν μα]καρίαι. He (sc. Epicurus) says to rightly invite them51 to the banquet, as well as all the others who are in his house, without passing over anyone of those from outside (the School), all those who are benevolent to himself and his friends. For in doing so, we do not please the crowd with the empty and unnatural demagogy, but acting within the bounds of what is proper to nature, we will remember everyone who means us well, so that they may assist in performing the rites52 which (will lead) to their own blissfulness. This passage illustrates Epicurus’ policy of not only including initiated Epicureans at his philosophical banquets, but also extending the invitation to all people from without the school, on the condition that they look favorably upon the Epicureans. It would, in fact, seem that not only the school’s known benefactors are welcome, but also their friends, who might not have any direct ties with any of the Garden’s members. The implicit condition here is, no doubt, that the invitee must be able to vouch for his concomitants’ good intentions. Hospitable as they might be, it is safe to assume that the Epicureans 49 Amoroso (1975), 63, n. 5. Cf. Arist., Rhet. 1421b14; 18. Yet, he also notes that Philodemus might still use it in its more basic meaning, citing the present passage as an example hereof. I am, however, unconvinced that Philodemus might not simply be referring to his philosophical conversations with friends and students in this instance. 50 De Epicuro 28.6–21. 51 The previous, unfortunately truncated line, mentions the irrational fear of the gods. The αὐτούς here might refer to these people who might, indeed, benefit greatly from Epicurean discussions about the true nature of the gods. Cf. the overview of the debate on the interpretation of these lines in Tepedino Guerra (1994), 36–37. 52 Lit. ‘burning things together in a ritual way’.

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would not want to invite someone who might ruin the pleasant conviviality with inappropriate criticisms and uncivilized behavior.53 However that may be, this passage demonstrates that the Epicurean sage will, conform Epicurus’ own directives, welcome people whom he meets and who treat him kindly, to partake in his philosophical meetings. Interestingly, Philodemus points out that this practice is not motivated by an unnatural desire to please the crowd. In other words, the sage will not invite outsiders in an opportunistic attempt to gain their sympathy, nor even to have witnesses who may help refute slanderous allegations about the supposed secrecy of Epicurean gatherings.54 Instead, he acts in accordance with what is proper to his nature. The sage’s natural inclination, then, is to be a φιλάνθρωπος, a sociable person who is well-disposed and welcoming towards all other people, on the condition that they are willing to reciprocate his kindness and have no intention to threaten the sage’s happiness in any way. Why, then, is it natural for the sage to behave in this way? How do his actions contribute to his ultimate goal of personal happiness? In my view, there are two elements at play here. First of all, it is probably easier and more natural for the sage to be kind and welcoming than to act in the opposite way. He is by default happy and untroubled by unpleasant thoughts and emotions. As a result, he does not have to make any real effort to behave in a pleasant and good-natured fashion. His display of happiness and friendliness is simply the outward appearance of his blissful disposition. Compare, in this context, the Epicurean claim that the statues of the gods should not have stern, forbidding countenances, but rather radiantly smiling faces, which encourage people to smile back at them, rather than to fear them.55 Because the gods are always profoundly happy

53 That does not necessarily mean that critical voices were not welcome at an Epicurean gathering. Plutarch’s Quaest. conv. 5.1 demonstrates that he, too, was on at least one occasion invited to an Epicurean banquet at the house of his friend, Boethus, who was an Epicurean himself, but who also partook in several of Plutarch’s own dinner parties. See Teodorsson (1990), 146–153 and Verde (2015), 210–211 on this particular Table Talk. On the friendship between Boethus and Plutarch, see, e.g. Flacelière (1959), 201–202; Hershbell (1992), 3355; Boulogne (2003), 18; 22; 37 and Koch (2005), 49. 54 See, e.g. D.L. 10.6; Plut., Lat. viv. 1129B; Cur. 516E. See also Roskam (2007b) for a detailed overview of anti-Epicurean polemicists who criticized the Epicurean ideal of an unnoticed life. 55 Diog. Oen. fr. 19.2.6–11. In a monograph which has been criticized for its meandering structure and imaginative reasoning, Frischer (1982) goes so far as to argue that statues depicting Epicurus himself as a blissful sage were part of a deliberate recruitment policy, aiming to engender admiration and enthusiasm for the Epicurean life style.

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on account of their perfectly equilibrated mental dispositions,56 there is no reason to assume that their faces would ever display anything else than a benign expression of absolute joy.57 Of course, this alone does not explain why the sage would invite other people into his house or freely share his possessions with them. The blissful gods (or at least their statues) may smile upon us with genuine good-naturedness, but that does not mean that they will do us any favors. They simply do not care about us and, even if they knew we existed, they would, in all likelihood, have little or no inclination to abandon their pleasant activities in order to meddle with the affairs of imperfect mortals.58 The sage, on the other hand, is of course very much aware of the existence and vicissitudes of his fellow citizens and his smile will be genuinely directed at them. His blessedness may explain why he will be pleasant and courteous to them, but it does not explain why he would actually do them any favors. A second point may be more illuminating in that respect. The sage is friendly to other people because he hopes and expects that his friendliness and good manners towards others will be reciprocated. This is perfectly in line with Epicureanism’s well-known utilitarian view on friendship. Moreover, by acting in a friendly manner, the sage avoids being noticed in a negative way by others. Even if the sage’s friendliness may not always inspire others to reciprocate it – there are, after all, always people who would rather be ill-mannered –, only the most vicious of people will actually be provoked to enmity when they are being treated in a thoroughly courteous fashion. Unfriendliness or an indifferent attitude towards people who are not one’s friends, would, on the other hand, very likely elicit dislike and even enmity, which are, of course, far from beneficial to one’s hopes of leading an untroubled life. In De oeconomia, Philodemus sketches the unpleasant consequences of ἀφιλανθρωπία (lack of feeling for fellow humans) and ἀνημερότης (wildness; i.e. an uncivil personality, ill adapted to life in human society):59 καὶ ἀφιλανθ[ρω]πία δὲ [κ]αὶ ἀνημερότης ζημιοῖ πολ[λ]ὰ καὶ ἀβοη[θ]ήτου[ς] ποιεῖ, πολ[λ]άκις δ᾿ ἄρδ[η]ν ἀν[αρ]πάζεσθαι [τ]ὴν οὐσίαν. [α]ἱ δ᾿ ἐν[α]ντίαι δι[α]θέσεις τἀναν[τί]α [παρα]σκευ[ά]ζουσιν

56 KD 1. 57 Philodemus admonishes against ascribing to the gods characteristics which are unworthy of them; see, e.g. Piet. 40.1138–1165. 58 KD 1. 59 Oec. 24.29–35; transl. Tsouna (2013).

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Moreover, lack of human feeling and harshness do much more damage and leave men helpless and often cause their property to be utterly ravaged, whereas the contrary dispositions bring about contrary effects. This confirms the aforementioned hypothesis. A failure to be friendly and well-mannered towards others may lead to isolation and ruin. In that respect, Philodemus’ many remarks on the wretched fate of the irascible person, which we already discussed above, readily spring to mind. The specific context of this passage from De oeconomia concerns people who are reluctant to share their prized possessions with others. These are, to Philodemus’ mind, very likely to pay the price for their refusal to share on two levels: that of their social life and that of their financial status, precisely because the lack of benevolent friends and acquaintances makes them more vulnerable to the turns of fortune. Yet, the general remark about ἀφιλανθρωπία does not exclusively apply to the greedy money-maker, but also to every other person who erroneously believes that it is not necessary to be kind and courteous at all times. With regard to the Epicurean sage’s policy of all-round φιλανθρωπία and his willingness to make people welcome to his company, KD 39 offers a valuable parallel: ὁ τὸ μὴ θαρροῦν ἀπὸ τῶν ἔξωθεν ἄριστα συστησάμενος οὗτος τὰ μὲν δυνατὰ ὁμόφυλα κατεσκευάσατο, τὰ δὲ μὴ δυνατὰ οὐκ ἀλλόφυλά γε· ὅσα δὲ μηδὲ τοῦτο δυνατὸς ἦν, ἀνεπίμεικτος ἐγένετο, καὶ ἐξηρείσατο ὅσα τοῦτ᾿ ἐλυσιτέλει πράττειν.60 He who best knew how to meet fear of external foes made into one family all the creatures he could; and those he could not, he at any rate did not treat as aliens; and where he found even this impossible, he avoided all intercourse, and, so far as it was expedient, kept them at a distance. If he cannot turn people into friends, the sage will still try to treat them in a kind and courteous way. As a rule, he will not consider those who are not his friends or family as completely unrelated to him. In this sense, we may perhaps read this cardinal tenet as a precursor to Diogenes of Oenoanda’s explicitly cosmopolitan views.61 The sage will not refuse to converse with people, unless he has reason to believe that any contact with them is likely to harm him. The avoidance of certain people is a last recourse, which the sage will only consider 60 Transl. Hicks (1931). 61 Fr. 30.1.2–2.11. See also Morel (2017).

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in those cases, when he cannot even extend the courtesy which he usually bestows on whomever he meets, without being harmed in the process.62 Philodemus’ own writings offer a striking parallel for the idea expressed in KD 39. In De electionibus et fugis, he ascribes the following behavior to the Epicurean sage:63 καὶ πολυωρεῖ τε τῶν ἀνθρώπων ὅσους δύναται πλείστους [κ]αὶ τοῖς φιλοφρονησαμένοις εὐχα[ρ]ιστεῖ καὶ δι᾿ ἐλπίδας τιν[ῶ]ν αὐτοῖς μεταλήψεσθαι καὶ πάλιν ὑπὸ τῶν αὐτῶν εὖ τι π[εί]σεσθαι. And he treats with much care as many people as he can, and he is thankful to those who treated him kindly, in particular because he hopes that he will share in some goods with them or that he will receive some benefit by these same people again in the future. As Philodemus points out both here and in the aforementioned passage from De Epicuro, the sage takes care to remember who treated him kindly and answers their courteousness in kind. In the case described in De Epicuro, he does so by allowing these people to have a taste of Epicurean happiness, if they so desire. The sage’s behavior, then, both expresses his own gratitude (χάρις) and hopes to cultivate it in others. On one hand, the sage’s willingness to share is prompted by an emotional response to the perception of deliberately receiving a favorable treatment from another person. On the other hand, the sage’s kind actions towards those who are courteous to him is meant to elicit gratitude in those people as well. It should be noted that the ancients did not usually consider χάρις in terms of precise reciprocity.64 In other words, they did not consider it a mere duty, nor did they express their gratitude through exact repayment of the favor that had been bestowed upon them. The sage does not demand or desire exact remuneration for his services, but he has hope that he will in the future be able to derive pleasure from the people upon whom he bestowed his favor. Rather than a social duty, the sage’s gratitude is an emotion, parallel, yet opposed to anger, as we will in the next section of this chapter. It prompts one to experience the desire to express one’s thankfulness and to treat one’s benefactor as favorably as one possibly can. 62

See section 5.2.2.4 for the sage’s hatred and avoidance with regard to people who mean to harm him. 63 Elect. et fugae 22.15–21. Transl. Indelli – Tsouna-McKirahan (1995). 64 Cf. Konstan (2006), 156–168.

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The philanthropic human sage, then, keeps an open mind towards the people whom he encounters. He considers a benevolent attitude on their part (or, as it would seem, even their friendship with a benevolent person) already sufficient reason to feel gratitude. Thus he thanks them for the small amount of pleasantness which their courteous demeanor adds to his daily life. He expresses it through his willingness to welcome the other at his home, thus causing the other to feel gratitude in return. In sum, the sage’s openness towards other people boosts the process of reciprocal gratitude and thus directly adds to his own pleasure. 3.3

The Importance of Having (Many) Friends

3.3.1 General Remarks Philodemus states that one cannot achieve the sage’s perfection without being φιλοποιητικός (‘a friend-maker’).65 Moreover, the wise teacher is also φιλόφιλος (‘affectionate towards his friends’).66 In other words, the sage goes along making friends whenever he can and takes care to treat these friends affectionately. This brings us to the role of friendship in the Epicurean sage’s life, which is not the easiest of topics. In fact, the Epicurean theory of friendship is, arguably, one of the most controversial parts of their entire ethical philosophy. We know that the Epicureans tended to have many friends and that they valued these relationships very much. Attestations of the Epicureans’ positive view on friendship are manifold and range from relatively clear-cut statements about friendship’s usefulness for the good life (e.g. KD 27 and 28), over obscure or highly problematic technical affirmations (e.g. D.L. 10.120; SV 23 and Torquatus’ account in Fin. 3.69–70), all the way up to the downright lyrical jubilation in SV 52.67 For the Epicureans, friendship is based on utility and pleasure, and is, quite simply, a condicio sine qua non for the achievement of the good life.68 It should be no surprise, 65 Elect. et fugae 14.6. 66 Lib. dic. fr. 85.5–10. 67 SV 52: ἡ φιλία περιχορεύει τὴν οἰκουμένην κηρύττουσα δὴ πᾶσιν ἡμῖν ἐγείρεσθαι ἐπὶ τὸν μακαρισμόν. 68 The utilitarian nature of Epicurean friendship has drawn a lot of scholarly attention. Especially the role of altruistic motives within Epicurus’ manifestly egocentric concept of friendship has been hotly debated. Some important studies on these topics can be found in Rist (1980); Mitsis (1988a), 98–128; O’Connor (1989); O’Keefe (2001); Brown (2002); Evans (2004); Armstrong (2011); Frede (2016) and Mitsis (2020), who offers an excellent critical survey of past scholarship on the matter of Epicurean friendship.

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then, that they tended to cultivate as many friendships as they could, favoring the conviviality of a large group of friends.69 Therefore, the Epicurean sage is always eager to make new friends, provided, of course, that they will be able and willing to contribute to his own happiness.70 The core problems are centered around the instrumental nature of friendship. All friendship is, after all, said to be rooted in usefulness. In other words, we choose our friends because we believe that their friendship will further our pursuit of personal happiness. Much ink has been spilled over the fact that some sources seem to suggest that friendship might, in some cases, become desirable for its own sake or outlast its usefulness and/or the pleasure that it brings. It is, however, not my aim to discuss Epicurean friendship in general, nor to offer an overview of the ongoing debate on this elusive topic. Instead, I will focus exclusively on what Philodemus tells us about friendship and even then only to the extent that it is relevant for our reconstruction of the Philodemean sage.71 3.3.2 The Sage as a Friend-Maker There are a couple of interesting elements in Philodemus’ occasional references to friends and friendship. First of all, he affirms the well-known Epicurean view that we need reliable companionship during our lifetime. A life which is friendless amounts to no good:72

69

Epicurus was famous for welcoming an abundance of friends to join him in the Athenian Garden: cf. D.L. 10.10–11. Other thinkers, who held that one should try to cultivate only a small number of good friends, criticized the Epicureans for this. In his criticism of the Epicurean position, Cicero echoes the Aristotelian view (EN 1171a7–13) that the quality of friendship will be ‘watered down’ when spread among too many different people (Cic., amic. 45). See also Glad (1995), 165–175. 70 Although the Epicureans considered it a good thing to have many friends, they were careful not to befriend people who seemed either too eager or too hesitant in embracing that offer of friendship (SV 28). 71 Voula Tsouna has intelligently suggested that Torquatus’ second theory of friendship, held by certain unnamed Epicureans whom he calls Epicurei timidiores, should, perhaps, be attributed either to Philodemus (Tsouna (2001), 159–172) or to his teacher Zeno of Sidon (Tsouna (2007), 14, n. 4). This is an attractive hypothesis and it is definitely plausible that Cicero could have used Philodemus and/or Zeno as sources for the more recent developments in Epicureanism. However, even aside from the fact that the view of Torquatus’ timidiores is hardly unproblematic, there is simply no way to determine with absolute certainty whether or not Philodemus developed or even endorsed this particular theory, as it is presented by Cicero’s spokesman. See also Mitsis (2020), 275–279. 72 M. 114.34–39. Translation by Henry (2009), modified.

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τό γε μὴν ἐπὶ τῶι πρὸς μηδενὸς ὅλως μνημονευθή[σε]σθαι δηγμὸν ἀναδέχε[σ]θαι φυσικὸ[ν] ἔοικεν εἶν[αιv]· ζω{ι}ῆς γὰρ ἐνίοτ᾿ ἀφίλο[υ] καὶ μηδὲν [ἀγα]θὸν ἐσχηκυίας ἐπιγέ[νη]μ᾿ ἐστί[ν·] ἂν δὲ τις ε[ὖ β]ιώσας καὶ [χρη]σά[μ]ενος εὐνοίας [τ]ύ[χ]ηι τινὶ συν[κυ]ρήσῃ τοὺς ἐγνωκότας ἀνειρηκ[υ]ίαι, τοῖς ὅλοις οὐδὲν ἐλλείψει· χρείαν γὰρ ἔσχομεν τῶν συνεκπτωμάτων [ο]ὐχ ἕνεκεν αὐτῶν, ἀλλὰ τῆς εὐδοκουμένης ζωῆς ἧι πέφυκεν ἐπιγίνεσθαι. On the other hand, to experience suffering at the prospect of not being remembered by anyone at all seems to be natural: for it is sometimes the consequence of a life (that is) friendless and has nothing good. But if someone who has lived well and has had people well disposed to him should encounter some misfortune that makes away with those who know him, he will not be lacking in any way at all: for we do not need concomitant deaths (i.e. we do not need friends to die together with us) for their own sake, but (for the sake of) the acceptable life on which they naturally intervene. Philodemus mentions the type of person who nears the end of his lifespan and finds upon re-evaluation of all those lived years that he has been truly lonely and bereft of any true friends (ἀφίλος) who might fondly remember him after his death. His existence is a life which entails nothing good (ζωὴ μηδὲν ἀγαθὸν ἐσχηκυῖα). Such a person, so Philodemus claims, has good reason to feel grief when he realizes that his life has been wretched and that his opportunities to enrich it with the blessings of friendship have all but run out.73 At first sight, Philodemus’ view seems to echo the well-known, yet not unproblematic Epicurean view that the value of friendship lies in its instrumental role with regard to the achievement of personal security and pleasure.74 However, Philodemus’ claim here differs slightly, yet significantly from this much-debated doctrine. He rather argues that, if we happen to grow old together with our friends and if, as a result hereof, they die around the same time as we do, it is not the fact that one dies together with one’s friends in itself which is good, but the fact that this situation is the result of a life which has been blessed by the presence of friends up to one’s final moments. In other words, if our friends leave this world together with us, this is a good sign because it presupposes that we actually have friends who may or may not live as long as we do. There are, however, situations imaginable in which one has made numerous good friends, but is still forced to die alone. Philodemus addresses this very 73 In section 6.1.3, I discuss this same passage in the context of bites of grief. 74 SV 23 is one of the passages which add greatly to the problematic status of this doctrine.

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point in this same passage of De morte. Some misfortune might occur, causing one to lose all of one’s friends. Although Philodemus does not specify how this type of catastrophe might come to pass, we can easily think of conditions which might cause even a sociable person to end up friendless and alone near the end of his life. Someone might, for example, only have friends from one specific city or region. If that specific location is struck by war, pestilence, or natural disasters, one might, indeed, get robbed of all of one’s friends in a short period of time. A person might also have a circle of friends which only consists of people of his own generation. Although the shared history and similar life experience might make the relationship with one’s friends very pleasant and relaxed, it also increases the chance that most of these friends will die around the same time and that one of them will be forced to outlive the others. As a result, that person might find himself bereft of friends in the final years of his life, when a frail health and reduced mobility make it difficult for him to go out and make new friends. It is interesting to note that Philodemus takes such scenarios into account. This might also shed light upon some aspects of the sage’s perpetual activities as a maker of friends. As we saw earlier, the Epicurean sage does not restrict his friendship to a limited number of friends. Instead, he befriends as many people and does not cease to do so when his circle of friends has grown to a certain number, nor when he himself has reached a certain age. Philodemus describes this as follows:75 καὶ διὰ τὸ μὴ ἀποκόπτειν τὴν πολυχρόνιον ζωὴν ἐνεργείας ἀεὶ καινὰς ἐνίσταται καὶ φιλο[π]οίας And since he does not cut short the long extent of his life, he always begins new activities and friendly attachments. This is a smart move on the sage’s part, as it allows him to avoid the unfortunate scenario that Philodemus describes in De morte. The sage does not retire. He does not think that his life can reach a point where it becomes useless to engage in new social interactions. Although his life was already complete when he first became wise, he does not consider this a reason to stop his pursuit of naturally pleasurable things and to settle down with whatever sources of pleasure he has at that point gathered. Instead, he continues to evaluate things in terms of their pleasantness, which means that the joy of making new friends will always be worth choosing, even if he already had plenty of them. 75 Elect. et fugae 22.9–12. Transl. Indelli – Tsouna-McKirahan (1995).

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The sage’s continuous wish to befriend every genuinely friendly person whom he meets results in an heterogenous circle of friends, composed of people from very different age groups. As a result, the sage is unlikely to find himself in a situation in which his many great friends have preceded him into the grave, leaving him to spend his final years in an empty house, left with nothing more than the joyful memory of those golden days when his home was always filled with laughter and amiable conversations. Moreover, we know that the Epicureans were avid pen pals to each other. Although we know of no letters by Philodemus’ hand, Epicurus’ correspondence with friends all across the civilized world is well-documented, as are Diogenes of Oenoanda’s letters which were incorporated in his monumental inscription, and Atticus’ correspondence with Cicero.76 Considering that Epicurus himself avoided travelling as much as he could, judging it a dangerous business,77 it would seem strange that the Epicureans would want to befriend people abroad, whom they could only visit if they subjected themselves to the hardships and dangers of travel. Yet, this too might be part of the solution for the problem outlined in De morte. While the continuous acquisition of new friends from various ages enables the sage to remain surrounded by friends throughout his whole life, the possession of friends who live elsewhere would seem to be a wise precaution against catastrophes which might decimate an entire city or region. If the sage and all of his friends live in one and the same city, he can enjoy the benefits of having them close to him and being able to see them every day if he wishes to do so. Yet, if a plague breaks out which kills all of his friends but leaves him alive, he is, all of a sudden, bereft of friends. If, however, he also has some friends in different cities or countries, he might have to make an unpleasant journey to get to them, but, in the end, he will be able

76 In Di fr. 87.27–29 Philodemus points out that συμφυλία (kinship; emotional connectedness) and therefore also friendship are impossible without some form of ἐπιμειξία. He qualifies this in fr. 87.6–8: the physical connection which is necessary for such a bond consists of sensorial perceptions in general, such as touch and hearing. It is probably safe to assume that written letters, which can themselves be touched, seen, and heard when read aloud, fulfill the condition of ἐπιμειξία between Epicurean pen pals who are unable to see each other in the flesh due to the distance between their respective homes. Supposed ‘friendships’ between the sage and the gods or between ourselves and our deceased friends, on the other hand, do not meet his criterion, for the simple reason that neither the blissful gods of the intermundia nor the non-existent dead write letters of any sort to living human beings. 77 Cf. D.L. 10.10. Epicurus had, no doubt, good reason to be wary of travel: Plutarch reports that the former nearly perished at sea on one of the few voyages he ever made (Plut., Non posse 1090E (= Epic. fr. 189 Us.)); see also Clay (1973a).

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to find a safe haven in a pleasant environment, where the friends with whom he corresponded for so many years are more than happy to welcome him.78 Philodemus also adds an extra dimension to the importance of friendship for one’s sense of security and wellbeing. Numerous Epicurean sayings suggest that the value of friendship should be measured by its practical utility. The Gnomologium Epicureum Vaticanum, for instance, includes several sayings which describe friendship in terms of help received and given. Apart from the problematic SV 23 mentioned above, it contains the claim that neither a friend who is always asking for help, nor a friend who never needs help are true friends (SV 39). Without a proper balance in the exchange of favors with practical usefulness, Epicurean friendship would seem to be all but impossible. In addition, SV 34 famously states that the true value of friendship lies not in the actual help which friends offer, but rather in the firm and reassuring knowledge that this help will be forthcoming should it ever be needed. Although the precise nature of this assistance and these useful deeds are not specified, one gets the impression that Epicurean friendship as presented by the Vatican Sayings is, above all, a matter of utility in which genuine feelings of φιλία are of little importance. In this light, the collection’s high-strung saying about friendship dancing around the world while heralding blissfulness (SV 52) might even appear somewhat out of place. Philodemus’ writings, on the other hand, offer a clearer interpretation of this reciprocal usefulness, which casts a somewhat warmer and more humane hue over the self-centered claims about practical utility. In De libertate dicendi, he suggests that this reciprocal assistance may also entail elements which transcend the purely practical:79 κἂν π[ε]ριδεικνύωμεν ἐπιλογιστικῶς, ὅτι πολλῶν καὶ καλῶν ἐκ φιλίας περιγινομένων οὐδέν ἐστι τηλικοῦτον ὡς τὸ ἔχει, ὧι τἀ[γ]κάρδ[ι]ά τις ἐρεῖ καὶ λ[έγ]οντος ἀκούσεται. σφόδ[ρ]α γὰρ ἡ φύσις ὀρέγεται πρ[ό]ς τινας ἐκκαλύπτειν ἃ [ν]οεῖ. Even if we demonstrate logically that, although many fine things result from friendship, there is nothing so grand as having one to whom one will 78 As someone who was forced to leave his homeland due to the outbreak of a war (cf. Gigante (2001); Sedely (2003)), it is not unlikely that Philodemus would have been able to appreciate the importance of having many friends all over the world. He will, moreover, have been acutely aware of the possibility of disasters which might suddenly rob you of all of your friends. 79 Lib. dic. fr.28.3–12. Transl. Konstan et al. (1998).

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say what is in one’s heart and who will listen when one speaks. For our nature strongly desires to reveal to some people what it thinks. Our friends help us in a very tangible way, but this does not necessarily mean that their assistance consists exclusively in the donation of material goods or interventions which improve our practical living conditions. Although these elements are, no doubt, very much part of the total package of ways in which Epicureans will assist each other, friendship also seems to cater to an innate emotional need to express ourselves to people whom we trust and to receive sincere feedback on these heartfelt confessions. Epicurean friendship, then, arises invariably from usefulness and its function is to fulfill the Epicurean’s needs, but these needs can be material, as well as emotional in nature. A natural need for self-expression is felt by all rational beings and can only be fulfilled by the establishment of a bond with people whom one can completely trust. In that respect, SV 39 makes sense indeed. For it would be too strong a claim to say that the person who never asks his friend for material or practical help is no true friend. Such a claim would force a wealthy and thoroughly fortunate Epicurean to ask his considerably poorer friend for help which he does not require at all, and this for no other purpose than to comply with the principles laid out in SV 39.80 Yet, if the fulfillment of the need to reach out to another human being and to share one’s thoughts with that person is also one of the services envisaged by the Sententiae Vaticanae, even a wealthy aristocrat will feel the urge to call upon the assistance of others. Indeed, a refusal to talk to one’s ‘friend’ in such an intimate way would rightly arouse suspicions about one’s real commitment to that friend.81 Moreover, it has been pointed out that the blissful gods, who have no need of any assistance of a practical nature, base their everlasting bonds of perfect friendship purely on this need for self-expression and the pleasure which they derive from their sense of kinship (συμφυλία) and the sharing of their emotions (τὰ πάθη παρα[δί]δωσιν).82 The sage’s friendship, then, is built upon a foundation of utility and contributes 80

This would, in fact, be reminiscent of the absurd claim that the gods would mimic human friendship, even though they have no need for reciprocal help, and that they would thus exchange useless gifts in an empty display of their willingness to do so. Philodemus dismisses this preposterous contention out of hand (Di fr. 84.26–85.7). 81 Epicurus makes perfectly clear how he feels about ‘friendship’ where there is no complete trust: εἰ δ᾿ ἀπίστων οὐδὲ φίλων (D.L. 10.11). 82 Di fr. 87.26–29. Cf. Armstrong (2011), 126–128. See also Essler (2013), 98: ‘Philodem geht offenbar vom Gefühl einer Wesensgleichheit oder Verwandtschaft (συμφυλία) zwischen den Götter aus, das er vermutlich als Voraussetzung für die aus der Freundschaft entstehende Lust ansieht, während er die Bedürfnisse (χρεῖαι) als Quelle ablehnt’.

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to the sage’s state of happiness by catering to his needs. First and foremost among these needs, however, seems to be the natural and therefore inevitable need to reach out to and confide in a trusted fellow human. Lastly, it should be added that Philodemus’ sage will also feel real emotions when the wellbeing of his friends is under threat. In De ira, Philodemus points out that, even though anger is in itself an unpleasant emotion, which makes itself felt as a painful bite, the sage will experience it when he notices that his friends are being harmed by others and even when they are harming themselves by acting in an irrational and self-destructive way:83 γί[νονται μ]ὲν οὖ[ν] περὶ τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ὀργαί, κἂν εἰς τοὺς φίλους ἁμάρτῃ τις, κἂν εἰς ἑαυτὸν φίλος πληνμελήσῃ, τοῖς ὅλοις εἰς αὐτὸν οὔτε διειλημμένως οὔτ᾿ ἀδιαλήπτως καινοῦ κακοῦ προσδοκωμένοῦ καταντήσειν. So, then, fits of anger do happen in the cases of good men, both whenever someone wrongs their friends and whenever a friend has behaved badly to his own loss, even when no fresh ill is either distinctly or indistinctly expected to occur to him personally. We will discuss this passage in greater detail in chapters five and six. For now, it suffices to note that Philodemus allows his sage to be subject to inevitable natural anger on account of harm that is being inflicted upon his friends. In itself, this does not necessarily contradict other documented claims according to which friendship is valued for its contribution to personal pleasure and security. One might, after all, say that the sage feels anger precisely because he perceives that this particular source of security and pleasure is being jeopardized. His reaction might not be prompted by his friend’s pain as such, but by the insight that a distressed or dead friend will no longer be able to provide him with the pleasure to which he has become used. A friend who harms himself through unwise behavior and who continues to wreck his own life is equally unlikely to provide the sage with pleasure and security. Such a friend might, in fact, become a liability to the sage, when the latter feels that the other can no longer be trusted to act in a consistently rational way. In sum, there is no compelling evidence to refute the hypothesis that the sage is in such cases merely responding to indirect harm to himself, rather than to the suffering of his friend. Be that as it may, the important point that can be deduced from this passage is that the sage’s reaction to his friend’s fate takes the form of a genuine emotion. In other words, it is not a purely rational response, prompted 83 Ira 41.17–25. Transl. Amstrong – McOsker (2020).

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by the insight that helping one’s friend is necessary, lest the Epicurean system of mutual assistance be undermined. The fact that Philodemus mentions an inevitable emotional element rules out a scenario as outlined by Evans and Brown, in which the Epicurean sage is forced to help friend A, although he does not really want to, purely because he is afraid that friends B and C, whose future help he does not want to lose, might notice his unreliability.84 Philodemus does not say that good people will only become angry when someone harms their friend if that specific friend is useful to them. In fact, unless the friend is either in a coma or heavily demented, the sage will never consider their relationship useless. He will always find it useful to talk to him and to receive a trustworthy response in return, even if the latter is unable to perform any practical favors on his friend’s behalf. When the sage notices that his friend is being harmed, he feels anger, irrespective of any desire on his part not to experience that particular emotion, which is, after all, painful.85 The sage’s friendship, then, is no mere contract, purely based on an exchange of assistance in practical matters.86 Although utility lies at its roots, that utility can take many forms, including the innate need to confide in another human being. Unlike a legal contract, it comes with its own share of emotions. The sage is not only φιλοποιητικός, but also consistently φιλοφιλός. This means that he will not only make as many friends as he can, but will also feel affection for them, which endures while their bond is maintained and strengthened by a 84 Evans (2004), 419–420; Brown (2009), 185–186. Mitsis (2020), 260–261 rightly doubts whether such far-going concerns about the reliability of friends and one’s own appearance of trustworthiness would leave much room for anything even remotely similar to what one would call friendship. 85 How he proceeds and whether or not he chooses to act upon that emotion is another matter, as we will discuss in detail in chapters five and six. 86 This tension between a businesslike sort of contract and an emotionally invested relationship becomes very problematic when we look at Torquatus’ third view on friendship, in which he casually claims that sages have made an agreement to love each other as much as they love themselves (Fin. 3.70). He acts as if this is the most normal thing in the world, commenting that this sort of thing happens all the time, as we often see (quod et posse fieri intellegimus et saepe evenire videmus) and that it is clear that there exists no better way to live happily (perspicuum est nihil ad iucunde vivendum reperiri posse quod coniuncione tali sit aptius). One wonders whether we truly see this sort of thing happen very often and whether the soundness of such an arrangement is indeed as perspicuum as Cicero’s spokesman claims. The idea that one might simply agree to love someone because it is advantageous to do so, raises questions about the role of natural emotions in this process, where emotion seems to be willed into existence by sheer force of reason. This particular brand of Epicureanism, then, appears to be far removed from Philodemus’ statements of natural anger at the sight of a friend in distress or the fact that emotions arise inevitably as a response to external events. See section 6.1 for the idea of natural ‘bites’ of emotion and the role of rational thought.

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continuous exchange of pleasure and assistance, both in practical matters and with regard to the free-spoken expression of one’s inner thoughts. 3.3.3 Generosity and Gratitude 3.3.3.1 Sharing with Friends Even though the friendship of Philodemus’ sage clearly entails a strong emotional component, the typically Epicurean concept of material assistance and practical help is by no means absent. Especially the idea that the sage shares his material goods with his friends is well-documented in extant Philodemean writings. He discusses this point in De oeconomia, where he distinguishes between a correct and an incorrect way of managing property and making financial gain. Philodemus distinguishes between two types of τέχνη:87 viz. the technical type, mastered only by true specialists, and a more general one, which is accessible to laymen who lack the time or willingness to devote themselves to the achievement of true mastery. Everyone can prepare food, in the sense that they can throw edible things in a pot and put it on the fire, resulting in a dish that can sustain the person who eats it, even though it might not exactly be haute cuisine-material. Yet, only the specialized cook, who has devoted copious amounts of time and energy to the study of his art, knows how to prepare that same dish in an expert way. Similarly, it is not inappropriate for the philosopher to be a property manager and a money-maker, making use of a non-technical form of the relevant τέχνη, but he will not bother about optimizing the production or maximizing profit in the way of the expert property manager, who spent lots of time honing his professional skills, to such an extent that he would not even have time to pursue philosophy if he wanted to.88 The sage, then, will manage his material goods in adherence to the principles of the non-specialized τέχνη, which allows him to maintain and even expand his possessions, without obsessing about them in any way. This way of doing things yields a number of advantages for the sage. First of all, he is not forced to live day to day in a Cynic fashion. Instead, he can lead a consistently comfortable life, knowing that his moderate money-making provides him with a financial buffer that will keep hunger and poverty from his door should his fortune ever take a turn for the worse.89 Because he is content 87 Phld., Oec. 17.2–40. See also Blank (2009) and Tsouna (2021a) on the Epicurean conceptualization of τέχνη. 88 See also section 4.3.1 and chapter eight, passim. 89 Oec. 12–29–14.23; cf. Laurenti (1973), 97–149; Tsouna (2007), 177–180; (2013), xxv–xxxiii; Asmis (2004), 149–161; Balch (2004).

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to make some profit, without the need to maximize it, he does not have to spend too much of his time on his financial and entrepreneurial activities and is perfectly able to combine a philosophical lifestyle with a decent amount of material wealth. The second advantage of this type of property management is that the sage is not only able to provide for himself, but that he also has sufficient means to share some of his wealth with his friends. In fact, Philodemus suggests that correct property management is inextricably connected with the will to share one’s goods:90 But if one has removed from oneself such difficulties (sc. an unhealthy obsession with acquiring and preserving property) and does not eagerly desire to amass and make one’s property as great as possible and, moreover, does not procure for oneself those resources that wealth offers by oneself watching painfully over one’s possessions or [by collecting] them in rich abundance, [as a result of this] a readiness for acquisition would become indistinguishable from one’s readiness to share things very much on one’s own initiative (ἐτοιμότης τῆς κτήσεως τῆι καὶ δι᾿ αὐτοῦ κοινωνούσησι). In truth, that the wise man administers these goods in such a manner is a consequence of the fact that he has acquired and continues to acquire friends (διοικεῖν γὰρ οὕτω ταῦτα τῶι κεκτῆσθαι καὶ κτᾶσθαι τὸν σοφὸν φίλους ἀκόλουθον). The sage manages his possessions without an unnatural attachment to them and without a desire to expand them indefinitely. As a consequence of this attitude, he does not mind giving some of his material goods away, provided, no doubt, that he will still be able to take care of his own basic needs for food and healthy living circumstances. In fact, Philodemus goes even so far as to turn things around: the fact that the sage administers his goods in a moderately profitable way is the direct consequence of his desire to have as many friends as he can and to treat these friends in the best possible way. He works for the sake of the friends whom he already has (κεκτῆσθαι φίλους), as well as for that of those whom he still wants to add to his ever-expanding circle of friends (κτᾶσθαι φίλους). If a relatively frugal person has only one or two close friends, it would suffice to gather enough money to care for one’s own needs and to put something aside for the sake of these two other people. If you happen to be the proprietor of a sizeable agricultural enterprise, as many, if not all of De oeconomia’s intended readers undoubtedly were, you are, in all 90 Oec. 14.37–15.6. Transl. Tsouna (2013).

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likelihood, more than wealthy enough to provide for yourself and these two friends. A landowning sage, then, might as well shut his entire enterprise down at a very early stage of his life, without the need to bother with Philodemus’ many Epicurean precepts about how a wise property manager should administer his affairs.91 The Epicurean sage, however, places no limit on the amount of people whom he will befriend. This implies that the landowning wise person will never shut down his business, but continue to run it in a non-specialized way, which allows him to make profit without much effort.92 The friend-making sage’s cohort of friends is, after all, quite vast and he can never be sure that there might not come a day when a large number of them falls on bad times. If that day comes, the sage will gladly demonstrate his willingness to be φιλόφιλος and share his ample reserves with his unfortunate friends. Because the sage never stops his friend-making and because he should always try to set something apart for his friends, he can never put an end to his low-intensity money-making either. Ideally, then, the sage’s willingness to devote some of his time to the acquisition of goods should be proportional to his willingness to acquire new friends. In fact, he will work more eagerly when he knows that his efforts are meant to provide him with the means to assist his friends.93 Even the sage can fall victim to some sort of misfortune which might cause his cashflow to dry up to the point that his finances are no longer on par with the size of his circle of friends. If that happens, he will not cut loose some of these friends, nor will he allow his willingness to share things with them to drop below an acceptable standard. Instead, he will first try to save money by cutting back on his own unnecessary expenses, in order to keep a healthy standard of basic material comfort available both for himself and for his many friends.94 At first glance, this desire to make money, merely for the sake of handing it out to people, seems not entirely unproblematic. One may wonder how the sage’s efforts to make and share money fit into a typically egocentric Epicurean ethical framework. In other words, how does it benefit the sage to act in 91

Even then, he must, of course, make sure that he has sufficient reserves to sustain himself and his two friends for the rest of their lives. 92 Of course, it would be absurd to assume that every Epicurean sage was wealthy enough to own a large estate. The situation of sages with a more modest income will be treated of further on in this section. 93 Elect. et fugae 21.2–9. 94 Oec. 26.1–9. The necessary expenses related to his own basic needs, on the other hand, are, in all likelihood, not included in this process of cutting costs. Moreover, if the wealthy sage is completely bankrupted, his friends will be more than happy to share some of their more modest means with him. Obviously, the exchange of pleasant conviviality and philosophical conversation will not be affected by the sage’s financial troubles.

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this way? Fortunately, Philodemus anticipates this question and elaborates as follows:95 Further, while the lack of friends (ἀφιλία) seems to relieve one’s expenses, in fact it causes people to remain without support, to be held in contempt by everybody, and to be little honored by the favors of benefactors (καὶ μὴν ἀφιλία δοκεῖ μὲν ἀναλωμάτων κουφίζε[ιν], ἀσυνεργήτους δὲ ποιεῖ καὶ ὑπὸ παντὸς καταφρονουμένους καὶ [ὑ]π᾿ εὐνοίας ἀπολυωρήτους). On account of these features, neither is one’s income considerable nor is its preservation secure, so that it is if one acquires friends that one will be happy in both these respects. (…) To speak more precisely, acts of imparting money to one’s friends and, of one’s other acquaintances, to those free of wickedness [seem] to some people to amount to subtractions from and diminutions of their property (ἀφαιρέσεις [κ]αὶ τῆς ὑπάρξεω[ς] με[ιώ]σεις). But in fact, according to Hermarchus, the cares bestowed upon such men represent more profitable acquisitions than lands, and they are the safest treasures with regard to the turns of fortune. Philodemus acknowledges the possible objection that, if making friends requires one to make and spend more money, then, surely, it would be cheaper and more efficient not to make friends. This objection could be raised by one of the aristocratic addressees, who has not yet abandoned the conventional ideas about wealth. It would, indeed, be in line with such a person’s character to evaluate this costly nature of Epicurean friendship as a source of unnecessary subtractions and diminutions of one’s financial state. This same argument, however, might also be used by an opponent with a background in philosophy. Indeed, someone might refer to the well-known egocentric nature of Epicurean orthodoxy and ask Philodemus how making money for the sake of one’s friends accords with the idea that friends are supposed to be merely instrumental to one’s personal happiness. Is the acquisition of friends really worthwhile if it requires one to work more than one would ordinarily have to do? If we accept that it suffices to have a steady source of moderate income in order to provide for one’s own needs, then why should we even bother to put in additional effort for the sake of people who are supposed to be nothing more than an instrument for our own pleasure?96 Are all 95 Oec. 24.19–29; 35–25.4. Transl. Tsouna (2013). 96 This sort of question reminds us of Torquatus’ Epicurei timidiores (Fin. 1.69), who would seem to have given up their exclusive commitment to individual pleasure under the pressure of Academic criticisms (vestra convicia). One such criticism might indeed be that

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those financial efforts and the daily concerns about the good management of one’s large estate, then, not an example of a thoroughly misguided hedonistic calculus? Philodemus answers in his typical fashion, referring to the many negative consequences of a way of life which does not match the proper Epicurean value scale. If we fail to make friends and to take the proper steps in order to care for them, we will not survive in human society. Anyone who believes that he is wealthy and happy enough to face life on his own will soon find out that everything upon which he built his confidence is destined to slip through his fingers if he lacks the support and respect of others. In a way reminiscent of his vivid descriptions of the fateful vicissitudes of irascible, arrogant, and flattering people in some of his other works, Philodemus predicts the friendless property manager’s downfall, which will be caused by his inability to count upon others and the fact that society will look upon him with contempt. Friendship, on the other hand, is no bottomless pit into which one shovels heaps of money without ever getting anything in return. Instead, we should consider it a kind of investment or insurance policy, and an extremely advantageous one at that. The Epicurean sage is no demagogue who throws his money around in order to curry favor with the masses, nor does he pay for people’s friendship in a desperate attempt to be liked by them. Instead, he approaches financial matters as it were from a prudent banker’s perspective, albeit a banker who deals not only in hard cash, but also very much in human relationships. In order to make profit, an investment is needed. Therefore, the sage invests in his friends by allowing them to share in his wealth:97 καὶ μὴ μόνον τοῦτο ποιεῖν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν ἰδίων προΐεσθαί τι πολλάκ[ις], ὥ[σ]περ οἱ τὴν γῆν σπεῖροντες, ἐξ ὧν πρα[γμ]άτων (περὶ γὰ[ρ ἀ]νθρώπων ε[ἴ]παμεν) πολλαπ[λάσι]α καρπίζεσθαι γίνεται, [φ]ειδομένοις δ᾿ ὀλίγον ὑπεριδεῖν οὐ γίνεται.

the Epicurean sage’s efforts for the sake of his friends appear to be suspiciously great and unidirectional at times. The question remains, however, whether an Epicurean like Philodemus would simply buckle under this Academic scrutiny and admit that the sage will sometimes do things out of sheer habit (Etenim si loca [etc.] consuetudine adamare solemus, quanto id in hominum consuetudine facilius fieri poterit et iustius?), rather than on account of some real benefit. 97 Oec. 25.14–23; transl. Tsouna (2013). Of course, he also allows them to share in other, more immaterial goods: his pleasant company, philosophical advice, a listening ear in difficult times, etc. Yet, for the specific context of Philodemus’ argument in De oeconomia, the donation of material goods is more relevant.

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And not only should he do this, but also he should often give away part of his own possessions, just like those who sow seeds in the earth. From these things – for we have been speaking about human beings – it becomes possible to reap many times more fruit, whereas this does not happen to people who refrain from discounting a small portion of their income. It is interesting how Philodemus switches from the imagery of investments to that of sowing and harvesting in this passage. Of course, both fit the overall theme of the work perfectly. Household management concerns both the agricultural production itself and the administration of the profit that one derives from it. Yet, the imagery which connects sowing and harvesting with friendship has a significant parallel in Diogenes Laertius’ survey of views about the sage which were proffered by Epicurus’ successors (τοῖς ἀπ᾿ αὐτοῦ).98 The passage runs as follows:99 καὶ τὴν φιλίαν διὰ τὰ χρείας· δεῖν μέντοι προκατάρχεσθαι (καὶ γὰρ τὴν γῆν σπείρομεν), συνίστασθαι δὲ αὐτὴν κατὰ κοινωνίαν ἐν τοῖς ταῖς ἡδοναῖς ἐκπεπληρωμ. and that friendship is prompted by our needs. One of the friends, however, must make the first advances (just as we have to cast seed into the earth), but it is maintained by a partnership in the enjoyment of life’s pleasures.

98 D.L. 10.117. 99 D.L. 10.120 (= 120b Dorandi). Transl. Hicks (1931). The fact that both passages take up one and the same metaphor with regard to the subject of friendship is striking. It makes one wonder about the origin of the saying in Diogenes Laertius’ list. Clearly, Epicurus is not the source, as Diogenes has just finished his enumeration of elements which he has gleaned from Epicurus’ own works and indicates that he is now moving on to the views of οἱ ἀπ᾿ αὐτοῦ. Diogenes Laertius was familiar with (some of) Philodemus’ works and names him as a source (D.L. 10.3; 24). Yet, in spite of the similarity in theme, the saying in D.L. 10.120 would have to be a very loose paraphrase if it was really derived from Philodemus’ De oeconomia. Although we cannot rule out the possibility that Philodemus might also have used the same metaphor elsewhere, in a passage which is lost to us, it seems more likely that Hermarchus is Philodemus’ and Diogenes’ common source. A few lines higher, Philodemus launches into his rebuttal of the objection that being friendless is cheaper with an explicit reference to Hermarchus (Oec. 25.1). It is, therefore, very plausible that the subsequent account might also, to a certain extent, be based on one of Hermarchus’ works.

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This passage reaffirms the utilitarian principle that friendship arises from need, but adds that one of the prospective friends has to make the first move, in the same way in which a farmer first needs to sow his land before he may even begin to think about reaping any sort of harvest. In Philodemus’ aforementioned passage the act of sowing consists in the donation of material goods. Taken together, the Philodemean passage casts a surprising light upon the precept in Diogenes Laertius’ tenth Book. Need prompts the friendship, but the friend who takes the first step is, in fact, not the one whose material needs are being fulfilled. Rather, his need for a reliable friend motivates him to fulfill the other’s need for certain material goods. If we continue to use the agricultural metaphor, we might say that the person who possesses wealth uses a portion of this wealth to sow goodwill and gratitude into the mind of another person who is in sore need of this material assistance. In the case of the Epicurean sage and his activities as a friend-maker, then, a friendship may sprout from the meeting of two different kinds of need. On the one hand, the sage needs people to whom he can reach out and who may, at some point in time help him in other ways as well. The sage’s prospective friend, on the other hand, may have a need for help of a more practical and immediate kind. When the sage allows the other to share in his own wealth, he engenders gratitude (χάρις) in that person. As we have seen earlier, this positive emotion does not prompt the receiving party to remunerate the sage as if paying off a debt. Rather, it gives rise to a desire to express this gratitude in any way possible. Thus, it binds one to the sage in a pleasant way, which creates the opportunity for mutual affection to blossom, trust to grow, and eventually for a bond of true friendship to be forged. As soon as the process is set on its way, it loses its unidirectional character and evolves into a reciprocal relationship in which both parties fulfill each other’s needs, both those of practical and those of emotional nature. Of course, this scenario of a wealthy sage who shares his possession with friends and acquaintances is not the only way in which a sage may make friends. There is no reason to assume that every sage has an estate which generates a steady income. Philodemus’ De oeconomia is in the first place intended for aspiring Epicureans who have property and wealth and who may benefit from a detailed account which explains how they should proceed to bring their newfound commitment to Epicureanism in accordance with the administration of their properties. If these students devote themselves to a consistent application of Epicurean doctrine, they may eventually become landowning sages, who can use their ample reserves of material wealth as an asset in the expansion and maintenance of their circle of friends. Penniless would-be Epicureans, in the other hand, may perhaps learn not to spend money on useless things and may thus increase the comfortableness of their lives, but it is highly unlikely

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that they might all of a sudden blossom into veritable Epicurean magnates with countless estates and servants at their disposal. Epicurean sages with this background will, no doubt, also be willing to share whatever they can spare, but they will hardly be able to lavish material gifts upon dozens of friends on a regular basis. This could mean two things: either the penniless sage does not have the luxury to take the first step when he wishes to befriend someone. In the aforementioned imagery, he finds himself in a situation similar to an impoverished farmer who has fertile soil ready for planting, but who has no seed with which he might sow it. This would, at any rate, impose a serious limit upon the friend-making activities of those sages who have only a modest income. The grand Epicurean claims about the continuous pursuit of new friendships would immediately lose a lot of their splendor, if the proviso were added that only a happy minority of aristocrats can afford to make more than a handful of friends. In that case, the poor sage’s only option to befriend more people would seem to involve waiting for someone else to take the first step. However, as we saw earlier in this chapter, need and usefulness are not exclusively measured in terms of material poverty and practical assistance. The desire for someone to confide in is also an innate human need. Moreover, the Epicurean sage, who only needs a limited amount of material goods to be happy, may even look upon people who are far richer than he is with the idea that they are in dire need of something that only he can offer them: Epicurean therapy and guidance on their path towards true happiness. In sum, even the wise pauper has more than enough goods to bring to the table, even if these goods are mainly of immaterial nature. Epicurus’ own policy of inviting non-initiated people to his banquets is a perfect illustration of this principle. Considering that the Epicureans favored sober meals,100 the sage’s willingness to share his small pot of cheese is hardly going to impress anyone, apart, perhaps, from those who truly live in the most squalid state of poverty.101 The real wealth which is being shared, however, is not the food and drink itself, but the privilege to participate in Epicurean conviviality and to experience firsthand what true happiness looks like. It would seem, then, that, although the same basic principles apply to the friend-making activities of both the wealthy and the penniless sage, the practical application of these principles to their respective lives may differ significantly. 100 Cf. D.L. 10.11. 101 Unless, of course, this homeless beggar is a Cynic. In that case, he will not be impressed at all, but shamelessly wolf down the offered foodstuffs, insult the fellow-diners, and mock his hosts for living in a house and having banquets, while homelessness and poverty are freely available as superior alternatives.

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Therefore, Philodemus has good reason to write a treatise which specifically addresses the needs and questions of a group of Epicureans whose sagehood, if they ever reach it, will be a wealthy sagehood, which entails both difficulties and opportunities that are alien to other types of sages. Intrinsically, every sage might be equally wise as the next one,102 but the practical application of this wisdom is heavily dependent upon the sage’s individual background. 3.3.3.2 Gratitude as an Emotional Response As we have seen, gratitude (χάρις) seems to play an important role in the sage’s dealings with his (prospective) friends. This is, in itself, hardly surprising, considering that the Epicurean sage’s relationships rely heavily upon people’s needs and the performance of favors in order to cater to these needs. Earlier in this chapter, we saw that χάρις should not be understood in terms of exact reciprocity.103 The sage does not desire exact payment for his services, but he hopes that in the future something good may come from his earlier investment in another person. Moreover, even though other people are also capable of some degree of gratitude, the sage is the only person who is truly able to feel gratitude in the proper way.104 Because gratitude appears to be such an important concept in Epicurean ethics, it is only logical that Philodemus devoted an entire work to it.105 Unfortunately, this work has reached us in a very fragmentary state. Most extant columns offer only a small number of legible words every few lines. In the few columns which offer us a brief series of decipherable lines, on the other hand, some crucial words have been lost, which renders every attempt to interpret them dangerously conjectural.106 Even though some loose words and phrases may be interpreted in a certain way on the basis of passages from other Philodemean works, the extant text itself is too truncated to offer any significant contribution to our understanding of Philodemus’ view on gratitude. Fortunately, there is another of Philodemus’ works which sheds some light upon this topic. In the lengthy final section of De ira, Philodemus addresses the claims of a group of unnamed heterodox Epicureans, to whom I shall hereafter

102 D.L. 10.120: οὐ κινεῖσθαί τε ἕτερον ἑτέρου σοφώτερον. 103 Cf. Konstan (2006), 156–168. 104 D.L. 10.118. 105 The work De gratia (Περὶ χάριτος) seems to have belonged to the collection Περὶ ἠθῶν and has been edited by Tepedino Guerra (1977). 106 E.g. column 10. Tepedino Guerra (1977), 96–99 and Tsouna (2007), 119–121 attempt to make some sense of it, but Tsouna acknowledges right away that the work ‘is too badly preserved for much to be said about it with confidence’ (119).

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refer as the Maximalists.107 Their claim is that the sage is not only subject to moderate natural anger (ὀργή), but also to fits of intense rage (θύμος). They offer three arguments for this, of which two are based on analogy. They argue that anger-rage are analogous to (1) gratitude and to (2) drunkenness. The latter analogy is irrelevant for our present argument, but will be explored in greater detail in chapter six. The former analogy, on the other hand, provides us with an invaluable insight into some key aspects of Philodemus’ view of gratitude, which are directly relevant to our assessment of the sage’s dealings with his friends. Philodemus first presents the argument of his opponents in the following way:108 εἰ τ[οῖ]ς καλῶς παρ᾿ ἑαυτοὺς κ[εχ]ρημένο[ις] εὐχαριστήσει σοφὸς ἀνήρ, καὶ τοῖς ἑκουσί⟦οι⟧`ω´ς βλάψασιν αὐτὸν ὀργισθήσεται· [εἰ] δ᾿ οὐκ ὀργισθήσεται τούτοις, οὐδ᾿ ἐκείνοις εὐχαρι[σ]τήσει. τὸ γὰρ ἀντίστροφον γίνεται πάθος ἐπὶ θατέρου πρὸς θάτερον, καὶ κινεῖ, καθάπερ τὴν εὐχαριστίαν, οὕτω καὶ τὴν ὀργὴν τὸ ἑκούσιον. If a sage will feel gratitude to those who have treated him well of their own free will, he will also become angry with those who have intentionally harmed him. If he will not get angry with the latter, he will not feel gratitude to the former. For the one emotion appears in the one case to correspond to the other in the other case, and just as the intentional element provokes gratitude, so also it provokes anger. Gratitude and anger are positioned as each other’s direct antithesis. The Maximalist line of reasoning, then, is that if certain principles apply to the case of gratitude, they must also apply to anger. We may note that Philodemus does not raise any objections against the claim that anger and gratitude are each other’s mirror image. As far as we can see, he agrees completely with what the Maximalists say about the basic principles of gratitude and anger, which are probably part of canonical Epicurean doctrine. Their only point of dissent is what the Maximalists (erroneously) infer from this analogy. This passage offers us two important pieces of information on the Epicurean concept of gratitude. First of all, it reaffirms that the Epicureans consider gratitude to be a πάθος. In other words, it is in itself not an enduring attitude, nor 107 Armstrong  – McOsker (2020), 77–80 coin this term to denote this group of heterodox Epicureans. 108 Ira 46.18–30. Transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020).

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a virtue, but an emotion which arises at certain times in response to external factors.109 Secondly, gratitude and anger have in common that they are experienced in response to intentional actions of others. Philodemus (and the Maximalists) proceed to elucidate this point in the lines that follow:110 ὡς γὰρ εὐχαριστοῦμεν ο[ὔ]τε τοῖς ἀψύχοις τῶν ποιητικῶν οὔτε τοῖς ἀπροαιρέτ⟦οι⟧`ω´ς τι παρασκευάζουσι τῶν [ἐμ]ψύχων, οὕτως οὐδ᾿ ἀγανακτοῦμεν. For we are grateful neither to inanimate active causes nor to those animate ones that achieved something by no choice of their own, so also we are not annoyed at them. The criterion of intentionality implies that only deliberate actions by living creatures may lead to anger in case of harm or gratitude in case of benefit. In fact, it remains to be seen whether the Epicureans do not restrict this type of deliberate action to humans only. Even if animals are not ἄψυχοι, they are believed to lack our capacity for rational thought. Intentionality implies free will and the ability to choose on course of action from an array of possible ones. Animals, on the other hand, are ruled by instincts which dictate a single course of action on the basis of all relevant sense perceptions. Rational assessment of the situation or the possibility to take any other decision than the instinctive one do not occur in animals.111 Even about domestic animals, an Epicurean would probably say that, even though training may have interfered with the animal’s natural instincts, its decision to help its master is still no

109 Based on the remains of De gratia, the disposition which enables one to bestow favors upon others and to feel gratitude for favors received may have been characterized by εὔνοια and εὐχαριστία; cf. Tepedino Guerra (1977), 96–99; Tsouna (2007), 119. Rider (2019) argues that χάρις is, in fact, a virtue, although he acknowledges that no Epicurean texts describes it as one and that Aristotle explicitly says that χάρις is a πάθος. In his attempts to demonstrate that much of what the Epicureans say about gratitude points to an enduring character trait, he confuses χάρις with εὐχαριστία. 110 Ira 46.30–35. Transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020). 111 There is, in any case, evidence that Philodemus does not condone feelings of anger or a desire for revenge when one has been harmed by animals. He cites the Stoic Antipater on the uselessness of becoming angry when defending oneself against wild animals (Ira 33.34–37) and describes the ridiculous actions of the irascible fool who plots the murder of flies and mosquitoes and acts as if they have deliberately tried to insult him (Ira 17.15–23). For foolish angry behavior against animals, see also Plut., De coh. ira 457A; 461A.

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matter of deliberate action, but rather the unmediated result of what it has been conditioned to do.112 However that may be, the criterion of intentionality may also help distinguish between proper and improper instances of anger and gratitude. If the sage trips over a rock, for example, he will not blame the rock, nor will he get angry at it or kick it in some misguided attempt to punish an unfeeling lump of stone. An irascible fool, on the other hand, might burst into anger and try to take revenge on the offending stone, possibly hurting his own foot in the process. Similarly, a superstitious fool may feel gratitude for the weather gods when rainclouds disappear and the sun breaks through. The sage, on the other hand, knows that the weather is not influenced by the gods and that it would be absurd to ascribe anthropomorphic features to meteorological phenomena.113 As a result, the sage may enjoy the sunny weather, but will in no case feel gratitude towards the sun for shining or the clouds for dissipating.114 112 If Epicurus is saved from an attacker by a guard dog or from drowning by a dolphin, as was the little boy in Pliny’s Ep. 9.33, he will no doubt be very happy that these friendly animals came to his rescue. However, he will not feel gratitude towards them, because he knows that their reactions are merely the felicitous result of training and/or instinct. 113 Meteorological phenomena can, after all, only be explained on the basis of atomic principles, even though it is not always possible to determine exactly which principles of atomism are at play in a given situation (Epic., Ep. Pyth. 86–88). Hence, the Epicurean favor the method of multiple explanations to assess the possible causes of natural phenomena. For some recent studies on multiple explanations, see Bénatouil (2003); Taub (2009); Hankinson (2013); Masi (2014); Bakker (2016); Corsi (2017); Leone (2017); Verde (2018a); (2020b). 114 This seems all quite straightforward and perfectly in line with what we know about Epicurean philosophy. There is, however, one puzzling piece of evidence, which is rendered somewhat problematic in light of the aforementioned principles upon which Epicurean gratitude is constructed. In Stob., Flor. 17.23 (Epic. fr. 469 Us.), the following Epicurean saying is reported: χάρις τῇ μακαρίᾳ Φύσει, ὅτι τὰ ἀναγκαῖα ἐποίησεν εὐπόριστα, τὰ δὲ δυσπόριστα οὐκ ἀναγκαῖα: ‘We thank blissful Nature, because she has made the necessary things easy to come by and those which are hard to come by unnecessary’. The general idea that necessary goods are readily available is in itself well-documented (cf. KD 15). The fact that we should feel gratitude toward a personified Nature, on the other hand, is more problematic. Obviously, orthodox Epicureanism does not even leave room for some goddess who arranges the order of things. The fact that an Epicurean would personify Nature in this saying is already somewhat surprising, even though the dancing Friendship in SV 52 has a similar atypically Epicurean sense of literary licentiousness. Yet, even though friendship cannot really dance or herald things, it can indeed spread and the example of friendly relationships can demonstrate what happiness looks like. As such, the lyrical phrasing of the saying does merely embellish the way in which friendship manifests itself. The saying in the Florilegium, on the other hand, does not only personify nature in an un-Epicurean way, but specifically encourages us to experience an emotional reaction to its boons, which we should, in fact, only ever feel toward other humans. Although any

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Moreover, this criterion means that the good or bad unintentional effects of someone’s actions are in themselves no cause for gratitude or anger. In his answer to the Maximalist argument about the analogy between gratitude and anger, Philodemus elaborates on this particular point:115 οὐκ ἐπὶ τῶν κακῶν γοῦν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐπὶ τῶν ἀγαθῶν τίθεται τὸ μηθὲν εἶναι παρὰ μέγα τῶν ἔξωθεν, ἀλλ᾿ οὐ μόνον τοῖς σοφὸν ποιήσασιν εὐχαριστεῖ μεγάλως, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς ἔνια τῶν ἄλλων παρασκευάσασιν. εἰ δ᾿ ἐρεῖ τις εἰς [τ]ὴν προαίρεσιν [ἀ]τενίζοντα τοῦτο πράττε[ι]ν, ταὐτὸ δηλονότι καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς ὀργῆ προσδέξεται. The rule “nothing external is important” is laid down not only with reference to evils but also to goods. “But he is greatly thankful not just to those who made him a sage, but also to those who provided certain other things for him”. But if someone will claim that he does this looking for their intentions, then obviously he will accept the same claim concerning anger. The Maximalists claim that if great benefit should be met with profound gratitude, great harm must also be answered with profound anger. Philodemus points out the error in their reasoning. The intensity of our emotion is not proportionate to the intentions of the person who took that action, but to the effect of the action to which it is a response. Intentionality is a necessary condition for an angry or grateful response, but exactly how good or bad the other person’ intentions are is irrelevant.116 Great harm or great benefit which flows proper Epicurean would know better than to take this saying literally, it is, undeniably, phrased in a way which goes against what we know about Epicureanism’s concern for the clear and unambiguous usage of terms. DeWitt (1937), 321 also notes that this saying entails an inconsistency, but judges that ‘this would have caused him (sc. Epicurus) little concern, however, because he aimed to employ language that would be readily understood and would appeal to mankind’. 115 Ira 48.20–32. Transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020). 116 Beyond the effect of the actions to which they lead, the precise intentions of people do not really matter for our happiness. If a tyrant orders his henchmen to behead us, it does not matter whether he does this out of profound hatred or sheer boredom: in both cases, we are equally dead. Moreover, the Epicureans would probably argue that our senses cannot possibly gauge the extent of someone else’s intentions anyway. The assessment of different sense perceptions of the other person’s behavior may generally allow the sage to establish whether an action was deliberate or not. Yet, even the sage can only guess at the precise depth of the other’s feelings. The harmful or beneficial effect of the action itself, on the other hand, translates to a πάθος of pain or pleasure, which is considered a criterion of truth. In this light, it makes sense that Philodemus would prefer to measure the extent of our emotional response in proportion to a proven criterion of truth, rather than

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forth from an unintentional action is no cause for anger or gratitude, but great harm or benefit from an intentional action are to be met with the appropriate emotion, regardless of the other person’s exact degree of malevolence or benevolence. In this context, Philodemus reminds his opponents of the precept that ‘nothing external is important’. Great benefit and harm would only be possible with regard to internal goods. The opponents, so Philodemus says, may object that we are also grateful for external goods, but this objection is unconvincing precisely because external goods are never extremely beneficial. Even if they are offered by someone with extremely good intentions, the external goods themselves can never be extremely beneficial. Therefore, extreme gratitude would be inappropriate. The only proper reason for great gratitude, then, is having achieved sagehood. Although this happens thanks to the efforts and profound goodwill of another sage, it is the blissfulness of sagehood itself for which we are profoundly grateful.117 The fact that the intentions of the sage who helped us become wise were extremely good is essentially irrelevant for the calculation of the correct amount of gratitude. The only proper reason for great anger, on the other hand, would, by analogy, require the extremely harmful loss of sagehood trough the deliberate actions of an evil person. Yet, because it is impossible for a person to revert to his former state as soon as he has reached the blissful state of sagehood, there can never exist a scenario in which profound anger would be due to someone.118 The sage’s gratitude, then, concerns only those who deliberately contribute to his happiness, irrespective of the exact degree of their goodwill, and is proportionate to the favors that they bestow upon him. In turn, he himself inspires others to intense feelings of gratitude, precisely because every favor that he does for them is meant to help them achieve the highest degree of happiness. When the sage bestows favors upon others, he does so in order to foster and maintain friendship and to help his friends attain wisdom and a pleasant to speculate about something that cannot be verified without the express and completely truthful cooperation of the other person. In this respect, Philodemus’ view clashes with Aristotle’s claims that the proper return for a service should be meted out in proportion to the benefactor’s intentions (EN 1164a33–1164b2). 117 Cf. DeWitt (1937), 323: ‘Wisdom is the most precious of all treasures; it is the philosopher who guides the footsteps of his disciples in the path of wisdom; therefore the disciple owes gratitude to his leader for the greatest of all benefits’. Here it is particularly relevant that gratitude does not entail an exact repayment of the received favor, but a more general inclination to express one’s thankfulness in various ways. It would, after all, be impossible for the new sage to repay his teacher for the gift of sagehood. Epicurus’ students seem to have expressed their gratitude with their friendship and with generous contributions to the school. Cf. DeWitt (1937), 322–323. 118 D.L. 10.117.

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life. Thus, the penniless sage and his estate-owning counterpart, whom we discussed above, are both equally well equipped to instill others with feelings of genuine gratitude.119 The monetary value of their offerings may be in proportion to their income, but they both offer people their friendship and their guidance on the path to perfection, which is, of course, the greatest favor one can possibly bestow upon another. 3.4

Sage Meets Sage: How Will the Sage Befriend His Peer?

An interesting addition to our discussion of the sage’s sociability and friend-making can be found in De libertate dicendi 8a–9b. In these columns, Philodemus seems to address the curious maneuvers of a meeting between sages who do not yet know each other and may not even know about each other’s sagehood. It is, no doubt, highly illustrative of the Epicurean view that sage’s are, in fact, not as rare as the phoenix, that Philodemus would actually devote an entire section to the first advances of sages who bump in to each other. It is needless to say that, to a Stoic, this sort of scenario would seem so incredibly unlikely to occur that it would hardly appear a relevant addition to a technical manual on the correct application of frank speech. Clearly, however, Philodemus sees things very differently:120 ποτὲ καὶ σοφὸς πρὸ[ς σ]οφόν· εἰ δ᾿ ὁ [μὲ]ν σοφὸ[ς] καὶ γινωσκόμενο[ς, τέ]λειος πρὸς τέλειον ἀπ[αντᾶι] (ὅ τι τέ[λ]ειο[ς] καὶ ἀγνοούμ[ε]νος, καὶ τάχα γινωσκόμενος ὡ[ς] σοφὸς πρὸς ἀ[γ]νοούμ[ε]νον καὶ φιλόσοφος δὲ καὶ φιλόλογος) wise man also (will be frank) to a wise man sometimes. If the wise man is also recognized, a perfect man con[fronts] a perfect man  – because he is perfect, (he will be frank) even if (he is) unrecognized, and surely 119 At first glance, Philodemus’ argument would seem to lead to the counterintuitive conclusion that we should probably be less grateful toward the beggar who warmly welcomes us in his cardboard shelter and offers to share his stale piece of bread with us, than to the eccentric aristocrat who whimsically throws a bag of golden coins into our lap, but who does not really care about us beyond that. If we only take the effects of the deeds themselves into account and largely ignore the intentions behind them, gold coins are, obviously, a better cause for gratitude than stale bread. The important point, however, is that the beggar’s kind offering may entail more than the stale bread alone. His willingness to welcome us into his shelter and to share what little he has may imply that he is also offering us his friendship, which is, of course, an important instrument towards the good life, which is far more valuable than a few coins. 120 Lib. dic. 8a.1–9; transl. Konstan et al. (1998).

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if (he is) recognized as a wise man and a philosopher and a scholar (but speaks) to one who is not recognized. As we saw earlier, Epicurus called himself a sage and encouraged his friends at the Garden to follow his example.121 As a result, an Epicurean sage who frequented the Garden back in the fourth century bc was very likely to bump into fellow sages on a daily basis. Moreover, the idea that one might encounter a sage whom one does not yet know became perhaps even more relevant among later Epicureans, when the Garden’s disciples had swarmed out across the civilized world and founded smaller Epicurean centers of their own. Understandably, an Epicurean wise man who has been trained by Philodemus in Herculaneum or by Siro in Naples would not necessarily know peers who graduated from Epicurean schools on Rhodes or Cos. The advantage of being a perfect sage is, apparently, that the potential sagehood of the other does not really require one to act more conspicuously. The sage always speaks with absolute frankness and will never resort to flattery or insincere compliments.122 If he encounters another sage, he will speak frankly, regardless of whether or not he has recognized the other for what he is. Neither will it make a difference whether or not he himself has been recognized by the other. Philodemus’ account of this meeting between sages is somewhat confusing at best, due to the abundant use of γινωσκόμενος and ἀγνοούμενος, not even to mention the fact that his use of the term σοφός to refer to either one of the sages makes it unclear to which sage he is referring. The central argument seems to be that the sage will act as he always does. In fact, Philodemus seems to think that a sage can make clever use of frank speech to be positively noticed by someone whom he knows to be a sage:123 ἴσως δὲ κα[ὶ φιλ]οστοργίαν ἔχοντες ἰδιωτικὴν ἢ θέλοντες ἔ[χ]ειν ἔνιοι παρρησιάσαιντ᾿ [ἂ]ν πρὸς αὐτόν. ἂν μὲν οὖν οἱ σοφοὶ γινώσκωσιν ἀλλήλους, ἡδέως

121 Sext. Emp., P. 1.57; 11.21 (= fr. 255 Us.); Plut., Adv. Col. 1108EF (= fr. 33 Körte); Non posse 1100A (= fr. 146 Us.); Cic., Fin. 2.7. See also Hirzel (1882), 279; Isnardi Parenti (1993), 7; Brouwer (2014), 169–170. 122 That is, if he speaks at all. There may be situations in which frank speech will only endanger the sage himself. In such circumstances, the sage is smart enough to know that even conversation has its limit (Conv. 5.1–2: [τοῦ]τ[ο τῆ]ς ὁμιλίας εἶναι τὸ πέ[ρας]). He will, therefore, keep silent, rather than to say anything that might either incur the enmity of others or make him break his commitment to truthfulness (Conv. 5.8–13). See also Tsouna (2007), 122–123. 123 Lib. dic. 8b.1–13; transl. Konstan et al. (1998).

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ὑπομνησθήσονται πρὸς ἀλλήλων ἐν οἷς διεσαφήσαμεν, ὡς καὶ ὑφ᾿ ἑαυτῶν, καὶ δή[ξον]ται δηγμὸ[ν] ἑαυτοὺς τὸν ἠπιώτατον καὶ χάριν εδήλου[σι]. Some, perhaps, having a private affection (for the wise man) or wishing to have it, may be frank toward him. If, then, the wise men recognize each other, they will be reminded pleasurably by one another in the ways we have made clear, just like (they would be reminded) by themselves, and they will sting each other with the gentlest of stings and will acknowledge gratitude. This passage seems to suggest two similar situations. In the first one, a sage harbors an unexpressed sort of affection for a peer, whom he does not know intimately.124 In the second situation, a sage perceives a peer with whom he would like to get acquainted personally. Philodemus does not specifically mention φιλία in this section, which is, above all, concerned with the use of frank speech between sages. Yet, based on the reference to a sage who wants to make himself known to the other out of a sense of φιλοστοργία or even the desire to develop such feelings, this passage seems to provide us with unique evidence on the genesis of friendship between sages. For the sage, who is always eager to make new friends, the opportunity to befriend another sage is, of course, not to be sneezed at. One might think that an obvious way of achieving this would simply consist in introducing oneself as a fellow sage. Yet, this solution seems to be somewhat too simplistic for Philodemus’ taste. Instead, a good way to draw a fellow sage’s attention involves frankly criticizing whichever small imperfections that person’s perfect conduct might still entail. Of course, it is possible that there are other ways to befriend another sage and that Philodemus’ resolute choice for a tactic which involves frank criticism is entirely due to the fact that this particular passage belongs to a treatise of frank speech. Yet, for all we know, Epicurean sages might simply believe that the proof of the pudding is in the eating. We should also keep in mind that, although all sages are equally wise, not all of them would have been equally renowned within Epicurean circles. For an obscure junior sage from some remote Epicurean circle in Asia Minor, it was probably not so easy to walk up to the scholarch of the Athenian Garden in order to become friends with him, even though, strictly speaking, ‘neither of them moves wiser than the other’.125 Moreover, anyone can claim that he or she is a sage, but only a true sage will act accordingly. In this case, 124 Philodemus’ choice for the term φιλοστοργία, which is, moreover, ἰδιωτική, suggests that this affectionate feeling has not yet got the chance to grow into reciprocal φιλία. 125 D.L. 10.120.

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that means that the correct application of frank speech to pinpoint some almost unnoticeably small mistakes on the other sage’s part serves as proof that one is, in fact, a full-fledged wise man or woman:126 ἢ […]ν ἀσθένειαν ἢ πόν[ων …] αὐτῶ[ι] παραπεπτω[κυῖα]ν καὶ τὰς αἰτίας αἷ[ς παρε]λογίσθη συνόψεται κἀκείνωι δείξει καὶ πεί[σ]ει, καὶ πολὺ δώσει τοῦτ᾿ αὐτὸ πρὸς ἐπ[ί]γνωσις τῆς ἀλλήλων τελ[ει]ότητος. he will perceive that a […] weakness or […] for toil has befallen him and the causes on account of which he has reasoned [falsely] and he will point (these) out to him and persuade him, and this itself will contribute much toward the recognition of one another’s perfection. Only someone who possesses a thorough and practical knowledge of Epicurean doctrines and their nuances would be able to point out where the behavior of a perfect human being like the sage shows the faintest of traces of his former mental disposition or where he makes even the slightest error of judgment. Thus, the sage who employs frank criticism towards his peer gives a clear demonstration of his own perfection. This might have remained unnoticed, had he merely engaged in trivial niceties. These are, after all, hardly a reliable criterion by which to distinguish a truly wise person from someone who merely claims to be one. Moreover, a person who demonstrates his ability to help improve any aspect at all of the sage’s life is, obviously, a friend worth acquiring. In an ethical framework where the origin of friendship is always rooted into some kind of need, having the ability to make a sage aware of a need of which he did not even know that he had it, is, no doubt, the surest way to become his friend. The sage who has been criticized will, indeed, be grateful for this small correction.127 As we saw above, gratitude is what gives a relationship the opportunity to blossom into real friendship through the mutual exchange of favors. In this case, both sages will do each other the favor of pointing out minute shortcomings in a frank, yet gentle way. 126 Lib. dic. 9a.1–8; transl. Konstan et al. (1998), slightly modified. For the first two lines Konstan et al. (1998) print ἢ [μεγάλη]ν ἀσθένειαν | ἢ πό[νων ἀηδίαν] αὐτῶ[ι] παρα-. I am, however, reluctant to supply μεγάλην and ἀηδίαν when there is so little to go on. Especially the former may have repercussions for Philodemus’ view on the sage. Although it is clear that the sage’s perfection does not make him completely infallible and that he can still make small errors of judgement (cf. section 9.1.2), it is not at all certain that the sage might also fall victim to a great weakness with regard to his reasoning and conduct. 127 Cf. D.L. 10.120 (= 121b Dorandi): καὶ ἐπιχαρήσεσθαί τινι ἐπὶ τῷ διορθώματι: ‘and he (sc. the sage) will be grateful to anyone when he is corrected’ (transl. Hicks (1931)).

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Concluding Remarks

Although we lack the textual evidence to make a more complete reconstruction of Philodemus’ view on the sage’s sociability and friendship, we get a solid idea of some of its central features. True to Epicurean orthodoxy, there is nothing in Philodemus’ writings which suggests that friendship would be rooted in anything else than (mutual) need and the pleasant fulfillment thereof. The sage walks around with an open mind and a gracious countenance and is more than willing to be kind and welcoming to whomever he meets, provided that they are willing to treat him in a similar fashion. The idea behind this is that good manners and friendliness are likely to be reciprocated and will, at any rate, minimize the chances of being treated with hostility. The sage’s φιλανθρωπία, then, is in itself already useful for his security and happiness. Moreover, it allows him to capitalize upon every opportunity to expand his circle of friends. Another crucial mechanism to this end is the interaction between generosity and gratitude. The sage generously shares whatever he has with friends and acquaintances and invites people who are willing to treat him with courtesy to the conviviality of his gatherings, where he offers them an exquisite taste of true Epicurean happiness. This way, a variety of needs can be fulfilled and met with gratitude: the need for material goods and practical assistance, but also the need for Epicurean guidance, and even the typically human innate need to reach out to a trusted peer. Gratitude, then, is an emotion which arises when we perceive that someone has intentionally done us a favor. It prompts us to express our thankfulness in whichever way we can. Thus, we have a reason to have more frequent dealings with that person. This, in turn, gives our relationship the chance to grow into true friendship, which is maintained by mutual trust and the continuous sharing of things. It is imaginable that the initial exchange of material goods might eventually be supplanted by a sharing of purely immaterial blessings. We may, in this context, think of the sage’s presence as a friend, his readiness to listen to his friend’s innermost thoughts, and his willingness to point out occasional small mistakes in his equally perfect friend’s reasoning. Strictly speaking, however, even a friendship which no longer entails direct practical utility remains both useful and pleasant as long as this sharing of immaterial benefits goes on. In sum, Philodemus’ sage may display social patterns which are not immediately evident from Epicurus’ own extant sayings, but that does not necessarily mean that we are dealing with a heterodox or even a truly innovative version of the sage. Philodemus’ treatises might simply aim to provide a more detailed view of the many aspects of the sage’s perfect character than Epicurus’ own surviving sayings and fragments. Considering that there is no evidence of an actual contradiction between the

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Master and his later follower, there is no reason to assume that Philodemus’ theory of friendship might differ significantly from the canonical view.128 Be that as it may, we can safely conclude that Philodemus’ sage is a friendly, generous, and grateful individual, who is orthodox both in his concern for his own happiness and in his willingness to care for his friends, even if – or perhaps precisely because – the latter is also very much a means towards the former. 128 Tsouna (2007), 30–31 rightly notes that Philodemus’ texts seem to pay more attention to the affective aspect of social relationships. However, none of Philodemus’ extant fragments points directly at a divergence as significant as the one in Torquatus’ account. Based on the extant textual evidence, it is impossible to establish with absolute certainty whether or not Philodemus completely endorses this particular view, let alone whether he might be its originator.

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A Teacher and a Healer καί σοι λοιπὸν ὥσπερ οἱ παῖδες ἀφίξομαι καὶ ἑῷος καὶ μετ᾿ ἄριστον μαθησόμενος τὴν τέχνην Lucian, Par. 61

∵ 4.1

General Remarks

Philodemus devotes a lot of attention to the sage’s activities as a teacher of Epicurean philosophy. The presence of a technical treatise like De libertate dicendi in his oeuvre and the detailed discussion on the right therapy of vices such as irascibility and arrogance demonstrate that these themes were of great interest to Philodemus.1 Much scholarly attention has been given to the therapeutic strategies which are suggested in these works. Especially the sage’s therapeutic frank speech and his use of vivid character sketches to set a patient’s moral flaws before his eyes have been discussed in numerous excellent studies.2 It is also well-documented that the Epicureans considered moral flaws as sicknesses and Epicurean doctrine as medicine, which needs to be administered in the right dose and at the right time in order to cure the patient’s afflictions.3 Diogenes of Oenoanda’s famous words on the general deplorable state of humanity is probably the most telling example of the view that the Epicureans alone are healthy, whereas the rest of the world is being ravaged

1 Especially Philodemus’ debate with Timasagoras on the effectiveness of vivid depictions of vice-stricken people as a therapeutic strategy betrays Philodemus’ participation in a rich ongoing debate on didactic and therapeutic techniques (Ira fr. 17–33; 1–7). See Tsouna (2007), 204–210; Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 47–58. 2 Gigante (1983), 55–113; Glad (1995), 101–184; (1996); Konstan (1996); Tsouna (2003); (2007), 52–87; 91–118; (2009); Sider (2004); Fusaro (2006); Giovacchini (2010); Erler (2011); Delattre (2015); Braicovich (2016); (2017a). 3 See, for example, Gigante (1975); Duvernoy (1984); Nussbaum (1994), 102–139; Konstan et al. (1998), 20–23; Giovacchini (2007).

© Wim Nijs, 2024 | doi:10.1163/9789004685338_005

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by a highly contagious plague of false notions and moral infirmity.4 It has been pointed out that Philodemus’ own works are simply brimming with medical imagery and comparisons between Epicurean doctrine and actual medicine.5 People are sick and can only be cured if they are taught to abandon their false presuppositions in favor of a sober Epicurean assessment of life’s true nature. Their garbled mental dispositions must be corrected in order to make a correct appraisal of choices and avoidances possible, which will, in turn, lead to wisdom and supreme happiness. As a result, it is virtually untenable to maintain a distinction between ‘teaching’ and ‘healing’ when studying Philodemus’ texts. People’s moral flaws are at the same time caused by atomic imbalances and educational shortcomings. The sage is both a teacher of Epicurean doctrine who administers frank speech and a doctor specialized in Seelenheilung, who impacts the physical configuration of his patients’ minds. The core precepts of Epicurean doctrine are crucial knowledge, but also a potent medicine (aptly named τετραφάρμακος),6 capable of halting the patient’s moral decline, so that his convalescence might truly be initiated.7 In what follows, the sage’s ‘teaching’ and ‘healing’ will be considered as one and the same practice and the terms ‘didactic’ and ‘therapeutic’ will be used interchangeably. 4.2

Why Is the Sage a Teacher and a Healer?

Although one might still debate certain aspects of Epicurean therapy, its general principles are absolutely clear, as is the fact that it is appropriate for Philodemus’ sage to teach and heal others. The question which is of greater interest for this chapter is why the Epicurean sage will do all of this and how his apparent commitment to teaching can be reconciled with his status as a perfect and utterly happy individual. As many, if not all, school teachers will confirm, teaching is not always sunshine and rainbows. Students do not always pay due attention to their teacher, nor do they always respond as 4 Diog. Oen. fr. 3.4.3–13: ἐπεὶ δὲ ὡς προεῖπα, οἱ πλεῖστοι καθάπερ ἐν λοιμῷ τῇ περὶ τῶν πραγμάτων ψευδοδοξίᾳ νοσοῦσι κοινῶς, γείνονται δὲ καὶ πλείονες (διὰ γὰρ τὸν ἀλλήλων ζῆλον ἄλλος ἐξ ἄλλου λαμβάνει τὴν νόσον ὡς [τ]ὰ πρόβατα) (…): ‘But, as I have said before, the majority of people suffer from a common disease, as in a plague, with their false notions about things, and their number is increasing (for in mutual emulation they catch the disease from one another, like sheep) (…)’ (transl. Smith (1993)). 5 Cf. Gigante (1975); Fausti (2012). 6 Adversus 4.9–14. See also Sbordone (1983); Angeli (1986); Giovacchini (2019). 7 On Epicurean basic education, see Asmis (2001).

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pleasantly as their teacher would have liked them to do. Philodemus’ allusions to difficult students who react poorly to the sage’s frank speech suggests that Epicurean teachers in antiquity were faced with some of the same challenges and unpleasantness as their modern non-Epicurean colleagues.8 Why, then, will the perfectly happy sage bother with students who may display all sorts of undesirable emotional reactions, if he could simply spend his entire day in the far more pleasant company of mentally equilibrated friends?9 4.2.1 Practical Benefits A first reason why the sage might be inclined to take up teaching is of purely practical nature. If he is not a wealthy landowner, he simply needs some sort of income in order to sustain himself. If one really needs to have a job of sorts, then teaching is by far the best option, as far as Philodemus is concerned:10 πρῶτον δὲ καὶ κάλλιστον ἀπὸ λόγων φιλο[σό]φων ἀνδράσιν δεκτικοῖς μεταδιδομέν[ων] ἀντιμεταλαμβάνειν εὐχάριστο[ν ἅμ]α μετὰ σεβασμοῦ παντ[ός], ὡς ἐγένετ᾿ Ἐπικο[ύ]ρωι. The first and noblest thing is to receive back thankful gifts with all reverence in return for philosophical discourses shared with men capable of understanding them, as happened to Epicurus. Epicurus himself sets the example here. It is, no doubt, significant that Philodemus himself seems to have made a living under the patronage of Piso thanks to his activities as a teacher of Epicureanism. As such, he has a good reason to present himself as an Epicurean who faithfully treads in the Master’s own illustrious footsteps.11 Indeed, Epicurus does not only lead by example here, but explicitly lays out the conditions upon which a sage may make money as a teacher:12

8 9

See, for example, Ira 19.12–20.3; Lib. dic. fr. 67.9–12; fr. 70.7–15; fr. 7; 22a–24b. Plutarch polemically raises a very similar question in De lat. viv. 1128F–1129A. His purpose here is to accuse Epicurus of an inconsistency between his ideal of an unnoticed life on one hand, and his continuous recruitment of new students and friends on the other; cf. Roskam (2007b), 113–114. 10 Oec. 23.23–30; transl. Tsouna (2013). 11 Cf. Lib. dic. fr. 45.7–11: ‘And the encompassing and most important thing is, we shall obey Epicurus, according to whom we have chosen to live …’ (transl. Konstan et al. (1998)). 12 D.L. 10.120 (= 121b Dorandi); transl. Hicks (1931).

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χρηματιεῖσθαί τε, ἀλλ᾿ ἀπὸ μόνης σοφίας, ἀπορήσαντα.13 And he will make money, but only by his wisdom, if he should be in poverty. Yet, straightforward as this precept might seem, it forces Philodemus to be somewhat conspicuous in his description of the ideal occupation. According to Epicurus, the sage may use his wisdom, or perhaps more accurately, the teachings of his wisdom, as a source of income, but only if poverty forces him to do so. This means that both Epicurus himself and Philodemus are allowed to offer paying customers a couple of lectures on Epicurean philosophy, but strictly speaking no more than that. As soon as they have made enough money to buy food, clothing, a roof above their heads, and whatever else they might need to 13

Gigante  – Dorandi (1980), 484–486 suggest that we should read εὐπορήσαντα instead of ἀπορήσαντα. They argue that such a reading is more in line with Philodemus’ and Metrodorus’ positive statements on wealth and income from property. I am, however, unconvinced that the reading ἀπορήσαντα would necessarily entail a contradiction. Diogenes Laertius’ list of views regarding the sage is, after all, a collection of statements from various unnamed treatises by Epicurus and his followers. As a result, we do not really know the precise context in which these claims were originally made. As we have seen in the previous chapter, Philodemus’ De oeconomia is, in all likelihood, specifically written for an audience of wealthy landowners. If these were to complete their Epicurean education and attain sagehood, they would become wealthy land-owning sages. Therefore, Philodemus’ advice to them deals with the specific situation of land-owning wise men. The question as to how a poor sage should make a living is, in itself, no less interesting, but does not need to be addressed at length in his treatise for property managers. In a similar vein, Epicurus’ statement on money-making by one’s wisdom might be drawn from a passage where he discusses specifically how poor sages should make a living. The answer, then, is that they will not wallow in their poverty, as a Cynic would do (cf. D.L. 10.119: οὐδὲ κυνιεῖν (…) οὐδὲ πτωχεύσειν). Instead, they will make an effort to make some money. The fact that they may only do so on the basis of their wisdom may be a warning for impoverished Epicureans not to turn to dishonorable or disadvantageous professions out of desperation. Even if you are homeless and starving, you should not make the mistake of accepting an undesirable job, like soldiering or sailing. Such professions are, after all, dangerous and wretched (Phld., Oec. 22.17–28; Diog. Oen. fr. 112; Phld., M. 112.25–31), even though they would probably solve the poor Epicurean’s most immediate troubles. Obviously, Epicurus would not have to offer this piece of advice to people who already gain a steady income from their estates. They are wealthy enough to lead a comfortable life and do not have any reason at all to consider taking up any sort of paid profession. In sum, the real meaning of Epicurus’ statement might be that the poor sage, for whom even the acquisition of the most basic form of sustenance might involve a bit of effort, will try to make money on the basis of his wisdom, rather than to revel in a Cynic’s dog-like lifestyle. See also Fowler (1989), 130–131 and McConnell (2010), 183–187 on this passage.

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fulfill their necessary desires, they ought to quit teaching at once. This conclusion, odd though it may seem, may gain further support from the hedonistic calculus. Why should the sage who has the necessary means at his disposal to enjoy life, still bother about all the troubles caused by recalcitrant students? Yet, matters are not so simple. Obviously, the Garden would not have lasted for very long if Epicurus and his brethren had only opened its doors when they were in dire need of money. The same passage in Diogenes Laertius’ tenth Book reports that the sage will found a school. Clearly, it would be one of the worst business plans in history if one were to open a school which will only be open for students at those moments when its founders are about to end up in abject poverty. The solution to this apparent paradox lies in the fact that the school is not generally supposed to generate money, or better, that it is not regarded as a direct means for making money. In other words, its founders are very hopeful that it will make them some money, or at least the equivalent thereof, but they do not actually charge anything to their students. As Philodemus puts it, the best way of making an income is to freely share one’s wisdom in the hope and expectation that one’s loyal audiences will freely share some of their material goods as a token of their gratitude.14 This brings us back to what we saw earlier with regard to Philodemus’ view on gratitude. It is felt in response to a favor and does not entail an exact repayment, but an expression of thankfulness which goes above and beyond the initial favor itself. The sage charges no fee for his teachings, but expects that he will be thanked with more than enough gifts to see to his basic needs and, perhaps, even to share with the rest of his friends.15 If the sage were to set a price on his teachings, his student would not need to feel thankful, because it would no longer be a favor. Instead, he would reciprocate the favor with an exact repayment of the agreed price. From that point onwards, there is nothing left to bind the student to his teacher or vice versa. As a result, their encounter is denied the opportunity to grow into friendship. This is, of course, how the sophists made a living. Philosophers’ criticisms of

14

In that respect, the Epicurean sage seems to follow the example of Socrates, who was also reported to spurn payment, but to accept gifts in order to see to his basic needs (cf. Xen., Oec. 2.8; D.L. 2.24–25; 2.74; 2.80). See also the anecdote on Anaxagoras and Pericles in Plut., Per. 16.8–9. 15 That last element depends, of course, on the wealth and generosity of one’s students. Someone like Philodemus, who taught Epicurean philosophy to a rich aristocrat as Piso, received, in all likelihood, more than enough thankful donations to be able to share some of those boons with his friends.

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this practice are well-attested.16 Aristotle’s sneer against the sophists offers a splendid illustration of this:17 τοῦτο δ᾿ ἴσως ποιεῖν οἱ σοφισταὶ ἀναγκάζονται διὰ τὸ μηδένα ἂν δοῦναι ἀργύριον ὧν ἐπίστανται. Perhaps however the sophists are bound to demand their fees in advance, since nobody would pay money for the knowledge which they possess. If the teacher knows that his lessons have a considerable intrinsic value, he will rest assured that its recipients will also see this and be thankful enough to repay the teacher most handsomely. A fixed price, on the other hand, betrays either the teacher’s lack of trust in his audience or, as Aristotle pointedly suggests, the fact that the fixed price is much higher than the lesson’s real value. Tellingly, Philodemus also adds a rejoinder about the sophists to his statement about teaching in return for gifts.18 Clearly, he has the sophists at the back of his mind when he discusses the sage’s livelihood and wants to make sure that his readers understand the important difference between the sage and the sophists. To this end he specifies the nature of these discourses which the sage will share in return for thankfully offered gifts. Unlike the sophists, then, the sage will not usually charge a fee for his teachings. Epicurus’ precept suggests that a business transaction in which a philosophical lecture is exchanged for hard cash is not completely inappropriate for the sage, but only if poverty forces his hand. In cases of great need, even the sage might rightly choose the certain fulfillment of his basic needs above the possibility of someone else’s gratitude and even the friendship to which it might eventually lead. In sum, there is an important difference between ‘opening a school and gaining an income from it’ and ‘opening a school with the express aim to make money’. The latter is to be avoided and is only allowed in case of poverty, as the saying in D.L. 10.120 demonstrates. The former, on the other hand, is always appropriate for the sage. This leaves us, however, with the question as to why a

16 Cf. Blank (1985), who discusses Socrates’ criticism of the sophists and offers an ample list of relevant passages as an appendix. 17 EN 1164a32–33; transl. Rackham (1934). 18 Oec. 23.32–36: (…) ὡς τό γε διὰ σοφ[ιστι]κῶν καὶ ἀγωνιστι[κ]ῶν ο[ὐδέν] ἐστι βέλτιον τοῦ διὰ δη[μοκ]οπικῶν καὶ συκοφαντικ[ῶν]: ‘(…) since in fact the acquisition of an income through [sophistical] and contentious speeches is [in no way] better than its acquisition through demagogical and slandering ones’ (transl. Tsouna (2013)).

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wealthy Epicurean sage, who needs neither payment, nor grateful gifts, would open a school. 4.2.2 Teaching the Other to Be One’s Friend In addition to the purely practical concerns about making a living, the sage might also have a second reason to act as a teacher. As we have seen in the previous chapter, the sage is a true philanthropist in the most literal sense of the word. He is prepared to treat all with kindness and to befriend those who are prepared to reciprocate this kindness. In that respect, the Epicurean seems to be far less choosy than, let us say, a Peripatetic or a Platonist, who held that one should carefully select a small number of people, with whom one will then share the benefits of friendship.19 Yet, despite the polemical accusations against the alleged lack of quality of their friendship, the Epicureans knew certainly better than to embrace just anybody as a friend. Significant is the warning in SV 28, to be wary of people who are either too eager or too hesitant in accepting one’s offer of friendship. We have no detailed information on the criteria to which someone ideally has to conform in order to qualify as suited for friendship. However, the sage’s philanthropic nature and his willingness to treat people kindly, regardless of their moral flaws, suggest that most people were at least welcome to enjoy his company and advice, if not yet his friendship. Quite certain is in any case that one need not be a sage or even a full-fledged philosopher to qualify. Otherwise, the friendship between Epicurus and politically engaged friends such as Mithres and Idomeneus, or between Philodemus and Piso, would not have been possible.20 And what to say of the Roman Epicurean Atticus and his friendship with the profoundly anti-Epicurean Cicero?21 Considering that people are not usually born as Epicurean sages,22 it is safe to assume that, in most cases, the sage himself has to teach the other to be his friend in an 19 Cf. Plut., Amic. mult. 94E–97A; Arist., EN 1171a7–13; Cic., amic. 45. 20 For Epicurus’ friendship with Mithres and Idomeneus, see Erbì (2015), for that between Philodemus and Piso, see, e.g. Gigante (1995), 79–90; Sider (1997), 15–18; Vesperini (2009); Arena (2012); Capasso (2020). 21 See Evangelou (2018) for a discussion of this unlikely friendship. For Atticus’ Epicureanism, see also the very recent discussion in Gilbert (2022). 22 Yet, according to Plutarch, Epicurus’ brother Neocles claimed otherwise: (…) Νεοκλῆς δὲ ὁ ἀδελφὸς εὐθὺς ἐκ παίδων ἀποφαίνοιτο μηδένα σοφώτερον Ἐπικούρου γεγονέναι μηδὲ εἶναι, ἡ δὲ μήτηρ ἀτόμους ἔσχεν ἐν αὑτῇ τοιαύτας οἷαι συνελθοῦσαι σοφὸν ἂν ἐγέννησαν: ‘(…) his own brother Neocles declared from childhood that there had never been born and was not now anyone wiser than Epicurus, and that their mother got in herself atoms of such a sort as by their conjunction must produce a sage’ (Non posse 1100AB; transl. Einarson – De Lacy (1967)).

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Epicurean way. In other words, he has to teach his new friends to correctly reciprocate his friendship and to do this for the right reasons only, unhampered by ungrounded fears or desires. Naturally, the sage wants to rid his friends of any undesirable vices and harmful urges which might jeopardize the pleasantness of their relationship. The sage has no need for friends who might frequently burst into intense fits of anger, are prone to arrogance, or who are likely to act in an irrational and even downright harmful way because of their fears and worries with regard to unimportant matters. In the section on social isolation in the previous chapter, we have discussed several passages in which Philodemus makes it clear that people whose vices remain uncured become highly unpleasant to their friends and acquaintances. Clearly, the sage cannot let harmful vices remain untreated in his friend, for both their sakes. It is, however, also important to cleanse the relationship itself of harmful elements and false suppositions. In this context we might think of flattery, a vice on which Philodemus has written extensively. The opportunistic flatterer who speaks insincere words and feigns true friendship is, no doubt, a menace in his own right. Their ‘friendship’, however, is not real and neither are their intentions to be a good friend sincere. The sage knows how to detect such people and will, no doubt, refuse to befriend them precisely because they do not really mean him well.23 Yet, perhaps even more problematic is erotic desire, which Philodemus also discusses in connection to flattery. Most people are, in fact, motivated by erotic desire, so Philodemus tells us.24 In this light, the sage, who can in principle make countless friends wherever he goes, is very likely to come across several of these erotically motivated people as well. It seems reasonable that, unlike the opportunistic flatterer, the person who wants to be close to the sage because he has fallen in love with him does not necessarily harbor bad intentions. Yet, his desire is no solid basis for proper friendship to be constructed upon, nor does it allow him to behave in a consistently rational way. Such people are motivated by an unnecessary desire which they erroneously hold for a necessary one. As a result, their behavior displays many similarities to that of the flatterer.25 The issue with these people, so Philodemus tells us, is that they falsely think that erotic desire and friendship are one and the same thing, which makes them fall short as friends.26 It is easy to see how the 23 24 25 26

Cf. Adul. PHerc. 222.2.13–16. Adul. PHerc. 1675.13.15–17: [ὅτι κ]αὶ τὸ πολὺ τῶν ἀνθρώπων πλῆθος ἐρωτικὸν ἐστιν. Adul. PHerc. 1675.13.17–23. Adul. PHerc. 1675.13.32–35: καὶ τοὺς μὲν φίλους ματ[.]δους διὰ τὸ καὶ καλεῖσθαι τὸν ἔρωτα φιλ[ί]αν (…). There is obviously a problem with the word ματ[.]δους here, as printed by De Falco (1926). Earlier sketches agree more or less on μ.τ.δο.ς, whereas the other letters

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Epicurean sage, who is said to be charming and to beguile people with the pleasant truthfulness of his words,27 might attract certain youngsters (men and women alike) who desire to be more to him than merely his friend. Socrates’ famous example might inspire a student to attempt to take up the role of an Epicurean Alcibiades and to share not only the learned conviviality of the dining table with his wise teacher, but also the erotic pleasures of the bedroom. Clearly, the sage needs to teach his young friends-to-be that this is not a proper aspect of friendship. The latter is, after all, a means towards the happy life, whereas the former is nothing more than the fulfillment of a natural, yet unnecessary desire, which is, if not downright harmful, most certainly not beneficial.28 The sage must make clear to his students that their erotic desire for him is no less of evil than an irascible person’s outbursts of empty anger.29 In sum, he must show them where their reasoning about friendship and erotic love is faulty and make sure that they fully understand what true friendship entails. Interestingly, there is a passage in De libertate dicendi which explicitly addresses the relationship between the sage’s affection for his friend and that friend’s moral qualities:30

27 28

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30

seem to be more open to debate. Yet, unless Philodemus uses an unknown hapax here, no existing Greek word fits these parameters. In light of the passage’s general thrust, it would make a lot of sense to read μ[α]τ[α]ίο[υ]ς, which would mean that the fact that some people call erotic love friendship makes them foolish friends. Of course, a renewed examination of the papyrus itself would be necessary in order to potentially make any firm claim about the correct reading of this passage, which remains, until then, a locus desperatus. Adul. PHerc. 222.2.5–7: (…) κη[λεῖ φρέ]νας οὕτως ὃν τρόπον οὐδ᾿ α[ἱ μυ]θικαὶ Σειρῆνες; cf. Gargiulo (1981), 111–112. SV 51; D.L. 10.118; Plut., Quaest. conv. 653D. See also Lucretius’ lengthy discussion on love and sexual desire (DRN 4.1037–1287). On the (un)desirability and potential harmfulness of sex according to the Epicureans, see Arkins (1986); Brown (1987); Nussbaum (1994), 140–191; Brennan (1996); Gordon (2002); Arenson (2016); Morel (2019); Nijs (2022a). Ira 7.13–24: ‘Nevertheless, since one must demonstrate all their false reasonings to those who are carried away (sc. by anger), and thus rationally appraise the purity of this evil, just as we are accustomed to do in the case of erotic desire, then, indeed, we number out everything [that is distressing] them and the every unpleasant consequences that follow …’ (transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020)). See also Lib. dic. fr. 57.1–6, which suggests that both being in love and being possessed by vices are conditions which the sage will try to diagnose and cure. Lib. dic. 3b.10–14. Text by W. Benjamin Henry and translation as printed in Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 68.

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πάντες γὰρ ὁμοίως καὶ φιλοῦσι κατ᾿ ἀξίαν ἑκάστου καὶ τὰς ἁμαρτίας βλέπουσι καὶ τὰς διὰ παρ[ρησίας. For all (sc. the sages) both love (their students) alike in accord with the worth of each and see their faults alike and, through [frankness]. The context here is that of the difference in teaching styles between sages and further in this chapter we will examine it again in that context. Yet, it also reveals that, apparently, the sage’s affection for his students is not unqualified. It is, in fact, proportionate to the worth (ἀξία) of the individual student. This raises the question as to which sort of worth Philodemus has in mind here. Does the sage love his students in proportion to their qualities as students? In other words, does he simply favor the overachiever on the first row above the lazy good-for-nothing in the back of the room who has a hard time staying focused and who only pays attention if he is frequently rebuked by his teacher? Or does the sage love his students in proportion to their progress on the path to wisdom? Or perhaps the sage feels more affection for a student whose behavior and character is more likely to contribute to the sage’s personal happiness? In a modern school context, these three questions would correspond to three very different approaches to one and the same situation. Moreover, not all of them would be considered completely salonfähig. Although most teachers would probably have to admit that they prefer the model students above the unruly cases, it would be questionable to expressly favor students who are better learners over their colleagues who struggle to keep up. The students’ instrumentality for the teacher’s egocentric sense of happiness, on the other hand, would be considered completely irrelevant for his commitment to and care for their proper education. Yet, in an Epicurean perspective, these three approaches may not be so very different after all. The student who makes better progress does so because he has a better grasp of the benefits of Epicureanism. The study and application of core Epicurean doctrine does not require one to possess supreme intellectual capacities or a generous background in philosophy. At its most basic level, it simply involves the interiorization of some straightforward precepts and the unwavering commitment to apply these to every situation.31 The idea is that, as soon as a student understands that the Epicurean way of life will lead to perfect happiness, he will automatically do his best to achieve this goal. Seneca reports that Epicurus distinguished between three types of students: (1) those who reach their goal on their own accord, 31 Epic., Ep. Men. 132; Phld., Elect et fugae 13.

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(2) those who need a teacher to lead the way, and (3) those who require frequent encouragement and forceful exhortations.32 Apparently, Epicurus considered the achievement of this last type of student to be particularly praiseworthy, because they had to start from a less ideal situation than their peers, but still managed to achieve the same result. In this sense, true model students and their more difficult colleagues can both be loved in proportion to their value. In the case of the former group, their merit lies in their quick progress.33 The students of the latter type, however, are not necessarily of lesser worth, as their merit may be measured by their ability to overcome their natural disadvantages. Moreover, a student’s progress is always proportionate to his value for the teacher’s wellbeing. Progress as a student amounts to moral progress as a human being and, hence, to progress as a friend whose pleasant presence adds to the sage’s joy. The sage, then, will feel his affection for his students increase as they apply themselves, make progress as a result, and enrich the sage’s life by becoming better people and better friends in the process.34 4.2.3 The Sage’s συμπάθεια As we have seen in the previous chapter, the sage experiences a genuine emotional response when he notices that one of his friends is being harmed or is acting in a self-destructive way. Naturally, the sage’s students who have not yet achieved perfect wisdom are especially prone to the second scenario. The interesting question here is how the sage will deal with people whose merit warrants a considerable amount of φιλία, but who will occasionally relapse to foolish and highly unpleasant behavior.35 We may probably assume that the sage makes a rational calculus of all factors and judges that the unpleasantness of having to deal with a student’s outbursts of empty anger or similar undesirable behavior will be compensated by the long-term pleasurable prospect of turning that student into a true Epicurean friend. Considering that friendship is an important means towards happiness, it would certainly make sense if the sage would take the painful experience of dealing with a student who is flying 32 Sen., Ep. 52.3–4. 33 As a result, they are, in all likelihood, not only easier to teach, but may also make the sage’s teaching activities more pleasurable. We should, after all, not overlook the fact that the sage may simply enjoy the act of teaching itself, especially is he can do so in the stimulating company of keen students. 34 Compare also Lucretius’ claim that his effort of capturing Greek Epicurean doctrine in Latin hexameters will be compensated by the delightful prospect of gaining Memmius’ true friendship (DRN 1.136–145). 35 Cf. Sen., Ep. 52.4.

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off the handle in his stride,36 while keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the friendship that will result from his efforts.37 Yet, whilst these matters seem to be a matter of rational calculus, of weighting the advantage of acquiring new friends against the effort involved in teaching them, there may also be another, more emotional, factor involved, which is directly related to the considerable difference in moral status between the sage and the would-be Epicurean. In De liberate dicendi, which explicitly deals with the philosopher’s role as a teacher and a therapist, mention is made of συμπαθία (or συμπάθεια), which I believe may play a role in the Epicurean sage’s decision to keep performing Seelenheilung on another person. Especially fr. 43 may be important in this respect:38 [τῶν γὰρ] ἀγαθῶ[ν ἔνεκα μεταποι]ήσομεν [τὸν] ὁμ[ιλί]α γενησό[μενον] φίλ[ων] τρόπον· εἰ δὲ [ἀγαθ]ῶν, πῶς οὐχὶ καὶ τῶν κακῶν; ὡς γὰρ ἕνεκεν εὐφροσύνη[ς] ἐκείνων, οὔτω καὶ τούτων προσήκει συνπαθίας χάριν, δι᾿ ἢν 36

We may, however, assume that there are limits to the sage’s willingness to put up with a volatile student. If, for example, a student’s outbursts of anger lead to physical violence, the sage will, in all likelihood, decide to put his own wellbeing first and break all ties with this harmful person. 37 In the following passage, Philodemus may acknowledge that an Epicurean teacher should be prepared to take the good with the bad sometimes: εἰ μὲν πυνθάνο[ι]το, τί μᾶλλον ἡ[δ]έως ποεῖ, φανερόν τι ζητεῖ· φανερὸν γὰρ ὅτι τὸ μὲν ὑπερηδέως πράτ[τει], τὸ δ᾿ ὡς ἀηδῶς ὑπομένει καὶ καθάπερ ἀψίνθιον: ‘If one should inquire which he (sc. the sage) does more pleasantly, one is seeking something obvious: for it is obvious that he performs the one (sc. praising) most pleasurably, but he endures the other (sc. blaming) pleasurelessly and as though (he were drinking) wormwood’ (Lib. dic. 2b2–8; transl. Konstan et al. (1998)). The passage is imbedded in a section which starts with a discussion of the difference between frankness which stems from a decent disposition and the frank insults of impolite people. In the last line of the preceding column, Philodemus launches into a series of questions which people might raise with regard to the wise man’s use of frank speech. The first of these questions might be πότερον ὁ σοφὸς εὐεπιφορώτερός ἐσ[τι πρὸς ψόγ]οὺ[ς ἢ ἐπαί]νους τῶν …: ‘whether the wise man is more prone … The obvious problem here is that [ψόγ]οὺ[ς] and [ἐπαί]νους are almost entirely supplemented by the editor. The interpretation of the subsequent column departs from the premise that Philodemus is contrasting the sage’s use of blame and praise, but, strictly speaking, neither of these columns offers absolute proof that this is what Philodemus is discussing. It would, obviously, make sense for Philodemus to say that students do not always behave the way they should and that harsh words are sometimes a necessary evil, even though the sage obviously prefers situations where he does not have to use them. If so, then this passage is indeed a perfect illustration of the way in which the sage copes with those about whom he cares, even though they have not yet achieved full wisdom. 38 Transl. Konstan et al. (1998), modified.

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βοηθούμεθα. καὶ γὰρ εἰ μὲν ἔσ[τι παρ]ρησ[ι]άσαντα μεῖναι ἐπὶ τῶν αὐτῶν, εἰ μηθὲν ἕξε[ι]ς, σώσ[εις] ἄνδ[ρα φίλον·] For on account of the good things we shall change the character of friends as it will become through conversation. But if (that is the case) on account of good things, then how not on account of bad things as well? For just as it is fitting (to do so) on account of the good cheer of the former, so too on account of sympathy for the latter, through which we are helped. For if it is possible for you, having spoken frankly, to stay with these same (persons?), if you will hold nothing back, then you will save a man (who is a friend). If I read the passage correctly, Philodemus’ argument runs as follows. We like our friends because being around them yields us good things. In all likelihood, these benefits are due to these friends’ positive character traits. However, if a certain friend has not yet reached the final stages of his philosophical education, he may still have some character flaws, and may still bear in himself some vestiges of false beliefs, which are hard to dispel completely. As a result, this friend may sometimes get himself into bad situations or behave in an unpleasant way. Philodemus seems to argue that it is not only the part of that friend’s character and life that is already in accordance with the Epicurean ideal that motivates the sage to help him with his evolution towards happiness. If that were the case, the Epicureans would probably only try to help people with very minor flaws in their mental disposition, rather than the more serious cases for whom various forms of therapy are suggested throughout Philodemus’ therapeutic writings. Indeed, it would be something of an exaggeration to praise the Epicurean sage for his philanthropism if his helpful attitude would only regard a very select group of people or if he would easily give up on a student and friend-to-be. Instead, Philodemus argues that a person’s negative traits also have the capacity to motivate the philosopher to take care of them. Here, συμπάθεια comes into play, which is not to be confused with pity, as we will see in the next chapter. For now, it suffices to keep in mind that pity requires a certain distance between the pitier and the pitied. The pitier is not directly affected by the suffering of the other person, but can, to a certain extent, relate to it. Because this distance is a requirement, pity is not felt for one’s close friends or family members. If they suffer, one is directly affected. This seems to be what Philodemus’ use of the term συμπάθεια aims at: the fact that a person will sympathize (συμπάσχειν) with another, on account of the interconnectedness of their lives.

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The bond between the sage and his students is no casual affair. As we have seen, it is no business relationship with a fixed price and duration. Instead, it is a voluntary commitment to each other which will endure through a continuous exchange of favors and the resulting feelings of gratitude. The student’s complete devotion to his teacher and his willingness to follow the latter’s every advice is illustrated in the following passage:39 εἰ γὰρ [ἡ]γη[σ]άμενος ἕνα τοῦτ[ο]ν [ὁ]δηγὸν ὀρθοῦ καὶ λ[ό]γου κα[ὶ] , [ὅ]ν φ[ησ]ι σωτῆρ[α] μόνο[ν, κ]αὶ ἐπιφωνή[σ]ας τὸ “τούτου [γ᾿ ἑ]σπομένοιο,” παρέδωκεν [ἑαυ]τὸν θεραπε[ύ]ειν, πῶς οὐχὶ μέλλει ταῦτ᾿, ἐν [οἷ]ς δεῖται θεραπεύσεως, δει]κνύειν αὐτῶι κα[ὶ. For if he has considered this man to be the one guide of right speech and [action], whom he calls the only savior, and to (whom) citing the phrase, ‘with him accompanying (me)’, he has given himself over to be treated, then how is he not going to show to him those things in which he needs treatment, and. Philodemus here deals with the fact that a student should be prepared to lay bare his soul before his teacher and fellow students. Of special interest here is the way in which Philodemus characterizes the student’s devotion to his teacher. The latter is as it were the student’s savior, whom he will follow as closely as the Homeric heroes Diomedes and Odysseus followed each other.40 This is clearly a bond which goes beyond the usual relationship between an average teacher and his student. It requires an unconditional commitment to the Epicurean teacher and unfaltering trust in his methods. The teacher’s devotion to the student’s wellbeing, on the other hand, is no less enduring:41 [με]τὰ πολλῆς πεπ[ο]ιθήσεως ἄλλους νουθετήσομεν καὶ νῦν καὶ διαπρέψαντες οἱ καθ[ηγη]τῶν οὕτως ἀπότομοι γενηθέντες· 39 Lib. dic. fr. 40.5–14; transl. Konstan et al. (1998). 40 Konstan et al. (1998), 55, n. 70 note that the phrase τούτου [γ᾿ ἑ]σπομένοιο is a direct reference to Hom., Il. 10.246–247, where Diomedes selects Odysseus to accompany him. Both Homeric heroes are often paired with each other and, if we are to believe Dante, they would remain together for eternity, as they were condemned to burn in one and the same flame in hell: Rispuose a me: ‘Là dentro si martira // Ulisse e Dïomede, e così insieme // a la vendetta vanno come a l’ira; // e dentro da la lor fiamma si geme // l’agguato del caval che fé la porta // onde uscì de’ Romani il gentil seme (Div. com. 1.26.55–60). 41 Lib. dic. fr. 45.1–6; transl. Konstan et al. (1998), modified.

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we shall admonish others with great confidence, both now and when those who have thus become cut off from (their) teachers have become prominent. Even when the student has ‘graduated’ and is, strictly speaking, no longer a student, the teacher continues to feel that it is his right and duty to apply frank criticism whenever his former student makes a mistake. In other words, the teacher’s commitment to his student has no end date. The fact that the latter may have gained his independence and might even have become a prominent figure (and even philosopher?) in his own right, does not change their relationship, nor does it diminish the sage’s confidence in his right to address the other person with frank criticism. Although the aforementioned fragments do not really specify whether or not this teacher is a full-fledged sage, we can safely assume that if students are already deeply devoted to an ordinary Epicurean teacher, they will, no doubt, adore their mentor if he is a veritable sage. In light of the depth and endlessness of their bond, it should be no surprise that the lives of the sage and his student are likely to become intertwined. Both share joy at the student’s moral progress, but also brief spells of pain whenever the student experiences a small relapse and temporarily obscures their normal εὐφροσύνη. The sage’s συμπάθεια, then, is a direct consequence of his intimate relationship with his student and friend and is particularly felt at those times when the latter temporarily strays from the right path. In an ethical framework where personal pleasure is the highest good, the idea that one would suffer along with other people would seem rather unappealing. Yet, somewhat surprisingly perhaps, Philodemus seems to attribute positive qualities to this sense of συμπάσχειν with the troubles of one’s morally flawed friend. If we read the text correctly, he suggests that this sympathy for the shortcomings and distress of the sage’s students helps the sage with his efforts to cure them of these undesirable remnants of their erstwhile disposition. Yet, before we explore the role of συμπάθεια in Philodemus’ therapeutics in greater detail, we should first take a look at the term itself. The term συμπάθεια seems to be relatively rare in the sense of ‘compassion’, and the evidence on its function within the Epicurean ethical framework is, admittedly, very slim. Philodemus makes it, in any case, clear that an inability to display συμπάθεια is found in people with an immensely unhealthy mental disposition, whose superstitious beliefs and fears cause them to fall victim to all sorts of vices:42 42 Elect. et fugae 20.14–21.

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καὶ τὰς ὀργὰς καὶ τὰς ἔχθρας οὐκ ἀνθρωπίνας ἀναλαμβάνου[σι], καὶ ὑπερήφαν[ο]ι κἀν ταῖς ἐπαγγελίαις κἀν τ[αῖς] διατάξεσι καὶ ταῖς ἀπιλαῖς γίνονται. καὶ ἀσύγκλαστοι καὶ ἀσυμπαθεῖς πρὸς τοὺς ὁμοφύ[λου]ς. And they engage in inhuman rage and enmity, and they become insolent in their announcements, orders, and threats. They are both incapable of empathy and sympathy towards their fellow (human beings). These are, clearly, the worst kind of people. They are almost completely incapable of the most basic human interaction, do not feel any connection whatsoever to other humans,43 and are, quite literally, inhuman in their outbursts of rage and hatred. The ability to experience empathy (συγκλαίειν)44 and sympathy (συμπάσχειν), then, is presented as a basic prerequisite for normal humans, setting them apart from the sociopaths. The idea that someone will suffer together with his beloved ones, however, is not usually denoted with the term συμπάθεια. Aristotle, for example, uses verbs like συλλυπεῖσθαι, συναλγεῖν, and συνάχθεσθαι to indicate the pain that one feels when people suffer with whom we have an intimate relationship.45 The verb συμπάσχειν and the derivative noun συμπάθεια (or συμπαθία) is generally used to refer to a physical connection, in particular the relationship between the body and the soul.46 The usage of συμπάσχειν and συμπάθεια with the connotation of ‘compassion’ felt by one human for another, is exceedingly rare, especially in pagan philosophy, although it rapidly gains popularity among

43 Cf. Indelli – Tsouna-McKirahan (1995), 213. 44 Indelli  – Tsouna-McKirahan (1995) translate the hapax ἀσύγκλαστος as ‘lacking pity’. However, as I will argue in the next section, Epicurean pity does not typically require one to ‘weep along’ with his fellow human being. In the context of this specific passage, it is more likely that Philodemus envisages empathy, defined as a normal human being’s basic ability to feel a connection to other members of his own species. The superstitious sociopath, on the other hand, is so crazed by his fears and obsessions that he lives on an emotional island, completely disconnected from all other people and bereft of any understanding of normal human feelings. 45 Cf. Konstan (2001); 58–59; (2006), 211. 46 For physical συμπάθεια in Epicureanism, see Lembo (1981/1982). See also Brouwer (2015) for the Stoics, Fraňo (2020) for the Stoics and Cicero, Di Meglio (2019) for Cicero, Holmes (2012); (2015) for Galen, and Gurtler (2002), Emilsson (2015), and Leinkauf (2018) for Plotinus.

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Christian authors.47 The noun συμπάθεια in particular seems to be used almost exclusively in a physical context.48 In fact, Philodemus also uses the term in its usual physical sense. In De morte, it denotes the relationship between body and soul, which are, conform Epicurean materialism, affected jointly by external factors.49 It is, at the very least, remarkable that what would appear to be some of the earliest attestations of συμπάσχειν and συμπάθεια in an ethical context are to be found in Epicurean texts. Apart from Philodemus’ writings, SV 66 also mentions συμπάσχειν in relationship to our connection to our friends.50 In an ethical context, συμπάθεια seems to refer to situations in which the Epicurean will feel a connection to the other and will treat the latter’s afflictions as if they were his own. This, seemingly anti-hedonistic, willingness to share the other’s pain calls to mind the claim in SV 56 that ‘the wise man will not suffer more when being tortured than when his friend is (being tortured)’, and Torquatus’ claim that Epicurean friends will rejoice in their friends’ joy as much as their own and be equally pained by their anguish’.51 These are, of course, highly problematic passages, which seem at odds with the essentially egocentric Epicurean focus on one’s own happiness. I am, therefore, somewhat hesitant to lean all too heavily upon them for my interpretation of Philodemus’ view on συμπάθεια. Yet, if they show us anything at all, then it is that, occasionally, and, no doubt, under very specific circumstances, the sage may allow himself to share in the pain of someone else.52 In this case, then, συμπάθεια may be an illustration of this general principle. In the context of the relationship between the sage and his 47 48

49 50

51 52

For an account on the term’s later evolution towards Christian compassion, see Kobusch (2018). Cf. Konstan (2001), 58: ‘Some time after the classical period, the noun sumpatheia came into use in the sense of the English ‘sympathy’, (…) although in philosophical and medical contexts it continued to bear the sense of physical interrelatedness (…)’ A notable exception to this tendency can be found in (Ps.?-)Plut., Cons. ad Apoll. 119C. M. 86.6–10. Cf. Henry (2009), 17, n. 23. συμπαθῶμεν τοῖς φίλοις οὐ θρηνοῦντες ἀλλὰ φροντίζοντες: ‘Let us not sympathize with our friends by lamenting, but by thinking’. The saying offers a typical example of Epicurean practicality. When faced with difficulties, like, in this case, the misery of one’s friends, one should not waste time and energy on senseless displays of intense emotion. Instead, one should apply rational thought to the situation, in order to determine the best way to deal with it. Fin. 1.67–68. A curious passage in Plutarch’s Non posse 1097F suggests that the reverse may also be true. Here, Plutarch reports that Metrodorus suffered from a painful edema, but still invited his friends over and drank along with them for the sake of the good cheer (εὐφροσύνη) and delight (χαρά) of their shared conviviality. This caused him to feel a strangely pleasant emotion, described as ‘pleasure mixed with tears’ (μετὰ δακρύων ἡδονή).

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student, συμπάθεια seems to serve as an additional motivation for the sage to take care of his prospective friend, whenever the thoroughly eudaimonistic εὐφροσύνη of the latter’s good traits is temporarily obscured by his remaining shortcomings or by the demands of the painful situations to which they have led. If so, then, ultimately, it is the complementariness of συμπάθεια and εὐφροσύνη that gives the philosopher the incentive he needs to successfully complete his patient’s therapy. This way, he can even stay committed to his responsibility as a doctor of the soul at all times. Sometimes the application of frank speech provokes highly unpleasant reactions, originating in the less virtuous parts of the patient’s personality, which do not at all contribute to the εὐφροσύνη that originally motivated the Epicurean to undertake the process of Seelenheilung. At those times, the sage’s intimate relationship with his patient will make him feel συμπάθεια. This will encourage the sage to stick with his wayward patient and prospective friend, knowing that it is in his own best interest to rid the other of his unpleasant ailments. He remains committed to his friend and knows that the end result of his efforts will be a friendship which greatly outweighs the present troubles. Hence, Philodemus is right to say that it is through συμπάθεια that we are helped in our effort to successfully complete someone’s therapy, thus saving a friend.53 It is also because of his sense of συμπάθεια that the Epicurean sage takes great care to apply a correct measure of παρρησία to his patients, taking into consideration their specific needs, and not to make the mistake of ridiculing them:54 δύνηται [δ᾿] αὐτὸς ἢ δι᾿ ἡμῶν ἢ δι᾿ ἄλλου τῶν σ[υ]σχολαζόντω[ν θ]ε[ρ]απευθῆναι, μηδὲ συνεχῶς αὐτὸ ποιεῖν, μηδὲ κατὰ πάντων, μηδὲ πᾶν ἁμάρτημα καὶ τὸ τυχόν, μηδ᾿ ὧν οὐ χρὴ παρόντων, μηδὲ μετὰ διαχύσεως, ἀλλὰ συνπαθῶ[ς] τ[ὰς ἁμαρ]τίας ὑπο[λαμβάνειν καὶ μὴ] καθυ[βρίζειν]. (so that) he can be treated either by us or by another of his fellow-students, and not to do it (i.e., criticize frankly) continually, nor against everyone, nor every chance error, nor (errors) of those whom one should not (criticize) when they are present, nor with merriment, but rather [to take up the errors] sympathetically (συνπαθῶς) [and not to] scorn. Once again, both the teacher and his Epicurean students keep in mind that their own happiness and moral health is no reason to turn their back on a wayward student who has momentarily become unpleasant to deal with. In 53 That is, if the truncated last line really reads ἄνδ[ρα φίλον]. 54 Lib. dic. fr. 79 (= 81N); transl. Konstan et al. (1998).

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such situations we might say that, when the going gets tough, the sympathizing sage keeps going. The fact that the moral illness of one person affects the entire circle of friends motivates the others to take that person’s ailments seriously and to make a sincere effort to help him. Ultimately, of course, the sage’s decisions are all based on νήφων λογισμός, Epicurus’ famous rational calculus, that weights the disadvantages of all possible courses of action against their prospective rewards, with special attention for their ability to contribute to his ultimate eudaimonistic goal. There is no doubt whatsoever that the sage wishes to have many friends, and, in order to maximize that friendship’s pleasantness and usefulness, he will readily take upon himself the comparatively small burden of teaching them how to be the best type of Epicurean friends that they can be. Yet, the grievous missteps of his students have real weight on the sage’s rational calculus, on account of the interconnectedness of his own life and the lives of those whom he considers his friends. In order to increase his own happiness, he has to help his friends increase theirs, especially if they are still plagued by the last vestiges of their former vices. In sum, the alternating pair of εὐφροσύνη and συμπάθεια may go a long way in motivating the sage to keep up his efforts as a teacher and a doctor of the soul, even if, at times, unpleasant situations arise and/or bad character traits (τὰ κακά) get the better of his patient. 4.3

The Art of Teaching

As we have seen, the sage has good reason to convey Epicurean doctrine to others and to cure them from their sicknesses of the soul. Epicurus states that the sage will set up a school. The only proviso here is that he will not use this school to please the crowd, nor to attract staggering numbers of students. Whereas the sage will only teach for a fee if poverty requires him to do so, there is no such condition for founding a school which is based upon free courses and grateful gifts, after Epicurus’ own example. Although it would probably be too strong a claim to say that it is the sage’s duty to freely teach students, it is safe to assume that the sage will generally have a natural inclination to take up this activity which is likely to yield him some considerable benefits. Philodemus’ elaborate technical account on frank speech and teaching methods suggests that the sage will take his role as a teacher very seriously. The question which we will address here is whether the sage’s teaching is a τέχνη of its own and whether or not the sage is supposed to be a real expert in this domain.

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4.3.1 Epicurean τέχνη First of all, we should take a quick look at the Epicurean conceptualization of τέχνη. This is a topic which has for a very long time received little attention. In recent times, however, David Blank and especially Voula Tsouna have published excellent papers that finally shed some more light upon Epicurean τέχνη.55 In general terms, the Epicureans view τέχνη as a method that achieves something advantageous for our life.56 All τέχναι have come into existence throughout humanity’s development as a response to people’s needs and with the aim to make their life easier. From that point onwards, these primitive crafts are honed to perfection through a process of observation and creative imitation of things that are already present in nature.57 Primitive people learned how to sow from the observation of sprouting acorns and to sing by imitating the birds.58 Following this line of reasoning, we may, for example, imagine that they also started to construct houses in imitation of burrowing or nesting creatures and fashioned warm clothes, inspired by certain animals’ protective furs. Eventually, every τέχνη develops its own set of principles, of which the τεχνίτης should both know the theoretical outline and have mastered the practical application. Philodemus summarizes how the Greeks commonly conceptualize τέχνη:59 νοεῖται τοίνυν καὶ λέγεται τέχνη παρὰ τοῖς Ἕλλησιν ἕξις ἢ διάθεσις ἀπὸ παρ[α]τηρή[σ]εω[ς τι]νῶν κοινῶν καὶ [σ]τοιχειω⟦ν⟧δῶν, ἃ διὰ πλειόν[ω]ν διήκει τῶν ἐπὶ μέρου[ς], καταλαμβάνουσά τε καὶ [σ]υντελοῦσα τοιοῦτον, οἷον ὁμοίως τῶν μὴ μαθόντων , εἴ[θ᾿] ἑστηκότως καὶ βεβ[αί]ως [εί]τε στοχαστι[κῶς]. Well then, among the Greeks, art is conceived and spoken of as a faculty or disposition derived from observation of certain common and basic elements which pervade the majority of specific cases, a faculty which both apprehends and achieves the kind of thing which no one of those who have not learned it (can do) in a similar way, whether firmly and securely or by conjecture. 55 56 57 58 59

Blank (2009) and Tsouna (2021a). Schol. ad Dion. Thrac. 108.27. DRN 5.1102–1104; 1361–1457. Cf. Tsouna (2021a), 195–198. DRN 5.1361–1366; 1379–1383. Rh. 2 PHerc. 1674.38.2–15. The text is that of Longo Auricchio (1977), modified on the basis of the readings in Blank (2003), 70–71, as printed in Chandler (2006), 88. Transl. Chandler (2006).

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A τέχνη cannot be a mere talent, practical experience, or habit.60 Instead, it requires a distinct set of rules which need to be interiorized first and involves a systematic practical application of these rules. Only someone who has studied the art’s fundamental principles will be able to realize its goal in a consistent way. A person who has not studied the core principles of the art of cooking, for instance, might every now and then be able to bake a passable cake, but if he cannot replicate that result in a consistent fashion, he does not have the right to call himself an expert. Moreover, as we have mentioned in the previous chapter, Philodemus distinguishes between a non-specialized and a specialized type of τέχνη. Certain arts are useful for the sage as well and it is therefore appropriate that he practice them. Property management, for example, is an art which can yield the land-owning sage considerable benefits.61 Therefore, it is not inappropriate for a sage to be a good property manager and money-maker, although philosophy should, of course, remain his main interest. The wise property manager is, however, significantly different from the ordinary property manager who makes great profit at the cost of even greater toils. In order to explain this distinction, Phildomus appeals to the preconception of the ‘good property manager’ and the ‘good money-maker’.62 If one were to judge the quality of such an expert purely on his ability to make profit, while ignoring factors such as leisure, philanthropy, sharing with friends, and pleasure in general, then the sage is, obviously, not a good property manager or money-maker. The wise Epicurean will, after all, ‘squander’ his time on philosophical conversations and pleasant pastimes, and spend money on his friends, rather than to invest it in order to maximize his profit. As far as Philodemus is concerned, a correct preconception of the ‘good property manager’ involves a type of property management which is ‘good’ in an absolute sense, that is, which accords with and contributes to the good life, as preconceived by all sensible people. Someone who is merely ‘good’ at making money, but who ruins his own life through excessive toil, continuous worry, and a lack of philosophical thought is definitely no ‘good’ person in the Epicurean sense of the word.63 The land-owning sage, on 60 Cf. Tsouna (2021a), 194. 61 Oec. 12.5–25. For Philodemus’ views on property management and wealth, see Laurenti (1973); Tsouna-McKirahan (1996); Asmis (2004); Balch (2004); Tsouna (2007), 163–194; Morel (2016). 62 Oec. 20.1–32. 63 The development of τέχναι is prompted by natural needs and a desire to improve the circumstances of our lives. Yet, this progress can overshoot its mark. Compare Lucretius’ account on the further development of technology for military purposes, which goes beyond the original desire for a happier life and spills into the realm of violence and

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the other hand, is truly a ‘good’ property manager and money-maker, even if he makes much less profit than his non-philosophical colleague.64 The sage’s τέχνη, then, is the non-specialized type. It requires a sound grasp of property management and enables its practitioner to acquire and preserve his property to such an extent that he can live pleasurably and does not have to worry about financial troubles. The expert property manager, on the other hand, uses a different version of the same τέχνη, which involves a technical sort of practice (ἐμπειρία ἐντέχνος), which requires him to spend enormous amounts of time and energy on his art.65 The sage, then, may practice various arts if he wants to, but only in their non-specialized form. He is literate, enjoys poetry and music,66 can cook himself some edible food,67 and does well financially, but spends no more time and energy on the practice of these τέχναι than needed to fulfill his natural needs and desires. He will not become a grammarian, nor a professional poet, musician, cook, nor, indeed, an ἐντέχνος property manager. 4.3.2 Φιλοσοφικὴ τέχνη? Is there, then, a τέχνη in which the sage will be a true expert? Considering that philosophy is the core element in the sage’s life and that it is, in fact, the very thing that defines him as a sage, one would be inclined to say that the sage’s designated τέχνη is the ‘φιλοσοφικὴ τέχνη’. Curiously, however, extant Epicurean texts never seem to make this explicit claim. Although the traditional τέχναι are discussed in several texts and are systematically declared inferior to philosophy, there is no Epicurean source which explicitly calls philosophy a τέχνη in its own right.68

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(self-)destruction (DRN 5.1281–1349). Similarly, the art of the so-called expert property manager would seem to be an undesirable outgrowth of the original preconception. Rather than to help its practitioner achieve natural happiness, it sacrifices pleasure and tranquility for the sake of unbridled profit-making. Oec. 19.4–5; 18.37–39; 19.4–12. Oec. 26–27. D.L. 10.120. As can anyone, so Philodemus points out in his treatise which is, ironically, intended for an audience of wealthy Roman aristocrats who all employ a small army of cooks and kitchen maids in their luxurious city houses and estates (Oec. 17.23–26). Cf. Giovacchini (2007), 29. The closest approximation of an Epicurean attestation of the concept of φιλοσοφικὴ τέχνη can perhaps be found in Torquatus’ account (Fin. 1.42), where sapientia is dubbed the ars vivendi and listed alongside the artes of medicine and navigation. Also of interest is Lucretius’ claim that Epicurus bestowed tranquility upon humanity per artem (DRN 5.10).

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Yet, the idea that philosophy is a τέχνη is well-attested in non-Epicurean sources. Especially the Stoics are very clear about the technical status of philosophy as a τέχνη περὶ τὸν βίον.69 It is perhaps interesting to note that Lucian’s pseudo-philosophical dialogue De parasite also declares philosophy to be a τέχνη.70 In the dialogue, Lucian parodies both Plato’s Gorgias and the Epicurean view of philosophy as a means towards the summum bonum of pleasure. His absurd claim is that there is a παρασιτικὴ τέχνη which outshines all other arts. This novel art is contrasted to the ῥητορικὴ τέχνη and to philosophy.71 With regard to the latter, Lucian’s parasite targets Epicureanism in particular.72 Parasitism and Epicureanism both aim at one and the same τέλος: the achievement of pleasure. Yet, Epicureanism’s method is inefficient, as it allows its practitioners to be sidetracked by all sorts of theoretical and argumentative concerns, whereas the parasite’s path to pleasure remains completely unobstructed.73 In the view of Lucian’s parasite, Epicurean philosophy is, as it were, a genuine ‘φιλοσοφικὴ τέχνη’, which can be placed in the same category as music, medicine, geometry, rhetoric, and, indeed, parasitism, which, obviously outstrips them all in its efficiency and pleasantness, as Lucian’s parasite assures us. Of course, De parasito is no proper philosophical text and most certainly no Epicurean source. In fact, we cannot even be completely sure that his conceptualization of philosophical τέχνη is not simply a playful attempt to project the Stoic view onto the Epicureanism.74 Yet, the fact that he presents (Epicurean) philosophy’s status as a τέχνη as if this is commonly accepted suggests that Lucian’s dialogue provides, at the very least, an indication that it was not completely unheard of to call Epicurean philosophy a τέχνη. 69 E.g. Sext. Emp., M. 11.170 (= SVF 3.598). See Sellars (2003), 55–85; Tsouna (2021b). 70 See, for example, Par. 1, where philosophy is right from the start included in an enumeration of τέχναι, and Par. 26, where philosophy and rhetoric are singled out as the noblest arts of all, with the notable exception of parasitism which trumps them all: τὸ μὲν δὴ ταῖς βαναύσοις τέχναις παράβαλλειν αὐτὴν ἀνόητόν ἐστιν, καὶ μᾶλλόν πως καθαιροῦντος τὸ ἀξίωμα τῆς τέχνης. ὄτι γε μὴν τῶν καλλίστων καὶ μεγίστων τεχνῶν διαφέρει δεικτέον. ὡμολόγηται δὴ πρὸς πάντων τήν τε ῥητορικὴν καὶ τὴν φιλοσοφίαν, ἃς διὰ γενναιότητα καὶ ἐπιστήμας ἀποφαίνονταί τινες…: ‘To compare it (sc. parasitism) with the vulgar arts is silly, and, in a way, more appropriate to someone who is trying to belittle its dignity. We must prove that it excels the finest and greatest of them. It is universally admitted that rhetoric and philosophy, which some people even make out to be sciences because of their nobility, are the greatest’ (transl. Harmon (1921)). For any study of this dialogue, the elaborate introduction and detailed commentary by Nesselrath (1985) remains absolutely indispensable. 71 Par. 26–27. 72 For Lucian’s interaction with Epicurean doctrine in this dialogue, see Nesselrath (1985), passim; Gargiulo (1988) and Nijs (2020a). 73 Par. 21. 74 Cf. Nesselrath (1985), 275–276.

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The absence of such an explicit claim in the Epicurean texts themselves, however, seems to have had a considerable impact on scholarship, where the potential ‘technical’ status of Epicurean philosophy is generally bypassed in favor of safer topics, such as the Epicurean view on the technicality of rhetoric or poetry. As far as I am aware of, Voula Tsouna’s recent paper is the first study which expressly addresses the issue of philosophy’s status as a proper τέχνη.75 She argues convincingly that Epicurean philosophy fulfills all the requirements of a proper τέχνη. It is a systematic complex, divided into Canonics, Physics, and Ethics, which all have their own principles and a designated domain to which these principles should be applied in a systematic fashion. Together they amount to a veritable ars vivendi, which encompasses all aspects of human life and aims to achieve the overriding goal of happiness through the interiorization and systematic application of Epicurean doctrine. In addition to Tsouna’s arguments, we can note that Philodemus’ polemical passages in his Rhetorica also suggest that he took philosophy’s status as a τέχνη for granted. At several occasions, Philodemus resorts to a reductio ad absurdum, stating that if his opponents’ definition of τέχνη were to be accepted, not even philosophy would count as a τέχνη.76 This suggests very strongly that, whereas the technicality of certain types of rhetoric is open to debate, no one in his right mind would claim that philosophy is no true τέχνη, which deserves to be mentioned in the same list as medicine or music. 4.3.3 The τέχνη of Teaching If philosophy is the sage’s designated τέχνη, what status should we attribute to the sage’s teaching activities? If we look at Philodemus’ detailed discussion of the correct application of frank speech to different types of students, we 75 Tsouna (2021a), 203–211. Giovacchini (2007), 29–30 also offers some useful insights in her dissertation. See also Isnardi-Parenti (1966), 385. 76 Rh. 2.3 (= Longo Auricchio 49): ‘[But according to this line of reasoning not even] philosophy should be called an art, nor medicine, nor music, [because in no respect] on the basis of the things laid down [from beginning to end by certain people] is it possible to discover whether some people have made a mistake or whether, [while attempting] to achieve the rules of the entire art, [they actually have no knowledge]’.; 2.24 (= Longo Auricchio 95): ‘And their prescription that sophistic does not require talent and practice for its acquisition is also manifestly false, otherwise even philosophy must be said not to require these things either’.; 2.17–18 (= Longo Auricchio 199; 203): ‘… do they think that it is made clear that rhetoric does not occur by art but only by practice and familiarity? For by the same line of argument we could say: “it is clear that philosophizing and philosophy (is the result) of much hard work (…)” no one would be so uneducated as to assume that we (think) that philosophizing and philosophy occur by means of hard work alone (…)’. Transl. Chandler (2006).

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have to conclude that the sage’s teaching prowess is definitely no mere talent, habit, or practical experience. Proper Epicurean teaching involves the systematic and rational application of a specific methodology and requires the teacher to possess a profound theoretical understanding of human psychology. Moreover, Philodemus seems to describe the sage’s reasoned application of frank speech as a type of adaptable artistry (ποικίλη φιλοτεχνία).77 Gigante contrasts the sage’s φιλοτεχνία with the term κακοτεχνία, which Epicurus reportedly used to refer to forensic oratory.78 The sage’s frank speech, then, accords with a positive type of τέχνη and is especially artful in its polyvalence. Yet, the question remains whether the sage’s teaching is a real τέχνη in its own right, or whether it is merely an aspect of the Epicurean τέχνη of philosophy. This is a question which is not explicitly addressed by Tsouna. She notes, however, that the teachability of philosophy is one of the features which point at its technical status.79 She points out that the Epicureans took steps to ensure that their doctrine could easily be memorized and put into practice by prospective students. The presence of a variegated array of didactic materials and techniques likens Epicurean philosophy to the traditional τέχναι, where similar efforts are made to cater to students’ learning needs with accessible handbooks and specialized teaching methods. Yet, the fact that the transmission of Epicurean philosophy is similar to that of other τέχναι does not necessarily mean that it is a part of the τέχνη itself. Teachability might be a prerequisite for technical status, but the teaching method itself through which this teachability is realized does not necessarily belong to the original τέχνη. An art is, after all, a designated method which serves to accomplish a certain goal. The art of navigation, for example, is a systematic methodology which has the accurate and safe steering of a ship as its goal. The objective of the art of medicine is to ensure people’s health. In a similar vein, Epicurean philosophy is a method which has as its overriding goal the achievement of happiness. Yet, teaching these arts to others does not directly lead to these goals. Teaching medicine or navigation will not cure people or hold a ship on the right course. Instead, it will enable people to learn how they themselves may accomplish these goals through the practice of the τέχνη itself. Although the teaching component is a prerequisite for mastery of the art itself, they have different objectives. Medicine makes people healthy, whereas the art of teaching medicine turns people into doctors. It would seem, 77 Lib. dic. fr. 68.1–2: ποικίλης τε φ[ιλοτ]εχνίας οὔσης. See also Lib. dic. fr. 10.1–3: τὰ πολλὰ μὲν διαφι[λ]οτεχν[ή]σει τοιούτω[ι] τρόπω[ι]. See Gigante (1983), 72–74. 78 Gigante (1983), 73; Amm. Marcell. 30.4.3 (= Epic. fr. 51 Us.): hanc professionem oratorum forensium πολιτικῆς μορίου εἴδωλον (…) definit amplitudo Platonis, Epicurus autem κακοτεχνίαν nominans inter artes numerat malas. 79 Tsouna (2021a), 211.

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then, that teaching a certain art and the art itself are, in fact, two separate τέχναι, of which the former is auxiliary to the latter. As is the case with the other τέχναι, Epicurean philosophy has its own objective. It aims to make people happy, whereas the goal of Epicurean teaching’s is to provide them with the tools which they need in order to realize happiness. In other words, the Epicurean teacher’s art prepares people for the achievement of happiness, upon which they can use their acquired theoretical and practical knowledge of philosophy to become truly blissful. There is, however, one element of Epicurean doctrine which somewhat complicates this parallelism with the other arts. In SV 27 we read the bold claim that philosophy is superior to the other τέχναι because the study of the former yields immediate pleasure, whereas the latter arts require a period of unpleasant labor before one reaches mastery and may start to enjoy its benefits.80 The underlying idea is that even gradual progress in philosophy is useful and pleasant. Our Epicurean teacher aims to rid us of irrational fears, corrects the flaws in our mental disposition, and teaches us how to distinguish between things which are worth choosing and those which are not. In all likelihood, we will not become truly wise, nor truly happy before we have reached the end of the curriculum. Yet, we may gradually get rid of individual fears and make better choices more often. As a result, our happiness will increase gradually throughout our time as a student. In my view, the main difference between philosophy and the other arts in this respect is that we cannot avoid living, regardless of what stage our philosophical education is in. If we have not yet mastered the art of navigation or medicine, we will not normally try to steer a ship or cure a patient on our own, unless necessity forces us to do so. An imperfect mastery of these arts which occasionally allows one not to sink the vessel or kill the patient is certainly not satisfactory at all. Only a complete madman would deem this a sufficient basis for trying his hand at these arts without the guidance of an expert. If one has not yet mastered medicine or navigation, one simply ought not treat patients or steer vessels on one’s own. Yet, with philosophy, which is, after all, the ars vivendi, matters are somewhat different. When it comes to living, it is obvious that people have to lead their lives anyway, even if they do not yet know how this might be done in the most pleasurable way. They live badly before they start attending philosophy classes and will gradually start to live in a more 80 ἐπὶ μὲν τῶν ἄλλων ἐπιτηδευμάτων μόλις τελειωθεῖσιν ὁ καρπὸς ἔρχεται, ἐπὶ δὲ φιλοσοφίας συντρέχει τῇ γνώσει τὸ τερπνόν· οὐ γὰρ μετὰ μάθησιν ἀπόλαυσις, ἀλλὰ ἅμα μάθησις καὶ ἀπόλαυσις: ‘The benefits of other pursuits come to those who have reached the end of a difficult course, but in the study of philosophy pleasure keeps pace with growing knowledge; for pleasure does not follow learning; rather, learning and pleasure advance side by side’ (transl. Geer (1964)).

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pleasant way as their education progresses. As a result, the study of philosophy enhances their happiness noticeably right from the start and continues to do so until they finally reach the blessedness of sagehood. Yet, strictly speaking, it is not the study of philosophy which produces this pleasure.81 This pleasure is enjoyed during the process of μάθησις itself, but this process is only responsible for the acquisition of philosophical doctrine. The correct application of these freshly acquired bits and pieces of philosophy is what truly enables the student to gradually increase his happiness. A highly relevant passage in this context can be found in Philodemus’ De electionibus et fugis:82 το[ῦ] τὴ[ν περί]ληψιν τὴν περὶ τῶν κυρι[ωτ]ά[τ]ων καὶ τὴν μνήμην π[ολ]λὰ συμβάλλεσθαι πρὸς τὰς οὔσας αἱρέσεις καὶ φυγὰς οὐκ ἴσου τιθεμένου, καθάπερ ἐξεδέξαντό τινες ἀγροίκως, τῶι τινας ἀναφέρεσθαι τῶν αἱρέσεων καὶ φυγῶν ἐπὶ τὰς περὶ τούτων ἀταραξίας, ἀλλὰ τῶι κ[α]τορθοῦσθαι μὲν αὐτὰς τοῖς τέλεσι τοῖς τῆς φύσεως παραμετ[ρ]ούντων. for the thesis that the understanding and memorization of the cardinal tenets contribute greatly to actual choices and avoidances is not equal to claiming that some choices and avoidances are traced back to the states of tranquility concerning them (sc. the cardinal tenets) – as some have clumsily interpreted it –, but to claiming that they (sc. the choices and avoidances) are accomplished successfully when we measure them by the ends laid down by nature. In this passage, Philodemus criticizes certain unnamed opponents who oversimplify the functionality of the key doctrines. Apparently, these people harbor the false belief that the mere study of Epicurean doctrine will, almost magically, transform them into sages who always make the right choices. Against these unrefined opponents,83 Philodemus argues that the achievement of a good life, based on the correct appraisal of choices and avoidances, requires 81

Of course, a student who has already accepted the validity of Epicureanism’s core principles may find pleasure in their affirmation as he moves on to more advanced Epicurean lessons. Yet, even this pleasure is obviously not the blessedness to which the practical application of Epicurean doctrine will lead. 82 Elect. Et fugae 11.7–20; transl. Indelli – Tsouna-McKirahan (1995). 83 The adverb ἀγροίκως depicts these opponents as little more than simple-minded country bumkins. This brings to mind Cicero’s disparagement of the indocta multitudo who eagerly flocked to the alluringly simplistic Epicureanism propagated by the likes of Amafinius (Tusc. 4.6).

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both the study and the practical application of Epicurean doctrine. Merely knowing that one should not fear the gods or death, nor desire money or power, does not really help if one does not use this knowledge to make the right decisions. If a person knows, for example, that political influence is not deemed choiceworthy, but still spends almost every waking hour campaigning out of sheer habit, his understanding of philosophy’s core principles is not used for its intended purpose. Interesting for our present argument is that Philodemus’ argument here can be applied to the distinction between philosophical education and philosophy itself. The former will bring ἀταραξία and provide the student with everything he needs to make all the right choices and avoidances. Yet, philosophy itself, conceptualized as a τέχνη which involves both the interiorization and the practical application of its principles, is what enables the student to become wise and happy through the correct appraisal of every choice and avoidance. Another element that suggests that the sage’s art of teaching and Epicurean philosophy itself are in fact two separate, yet interrelated, τέχναι is the systematic description of philosophy as a potent medicine throughout De libertate dicendi. If Philodemus’ Epicurean teacher is a doctor,84 who administers lifesaving therapy to his ailing patients, the process of teaching itself must be the philosophical equivalent of medical practice.85 Medicine is a conjectural art (τέχνη στοχαστική).86 Like all τέχναι, it has its own domain (healthcare) and encompasses a set of principles, which should be applied in a systematic way. Thus, the medical expert is able to achieve the art’s ultimate goal (the restoration of health). Yet, unlike many other arts, even an expert doctor cannot guarantee that he will be able to cure every single one of his patients. His diagnosis is sometimes based upon educated guesses and treatment will sometimes fail. Even so, this does not disqualify the doctor as a true τεχνίτης. While other arts might enable and require their practitioners to achieve their goal firmly (ἑστηκότως) and securely (βεβαίως), the medical expert operates by conjecture (στοχαστικῶς). He is generally able to successfully produce the desired result, but his work will inevitably entail a certain margin for error. As we saw earlier in this chapter, the Epicureans saw many parallels between conventional medicine and Epicurean philosophy, which they envisaged as therapy for sicknesses of the soul. The appropriate method for the administration of this therapy is the teacher’s frank speech. As Gigante already points out, the 84 Lib. dic. fr. 39; fr.63; fr. 64; fr. 69; fr.86 (= 90 N); 17a. 85 The administration of Epicurean ‘medicine’ to students is described as (medical) treatment (θεραπεία; e.g. Lib. dic. fr. 8; fr. 40). 86 Rh. 2.2 (= Longo Auricchio 47); 2.26 (= Longo Auricchio 99).

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sage’s frank speech is no less conjectural than the medical expert’s methods.87 Like the doctor, the Epicurean therapist sometimes has to infer his diagnosis from visible signs:88 [κἂν μὴ] κατειλήφηι ἐρ[ῶν]τας ἢ κατασ[χ]έτους κακίαις τισίν, ἀλλὰ σημειωσάμενον. εὐλόγιστα δὲ στοχαστὰ μὴ διὰ παντ ἀποβαίνειν οἷα κατηλπίσθη, κἂν ἄκρως ἐκ τῶν [ε]ἰκότων συντίθηται τὰ τῆς εὐλογία[ς, δεῖ γ]ε κἀν θέσ[ει] ὁμολογῆσαι. [even if] (it is the case that) he has [not] caught them in love or possessed by some vices, but has inferred (it) from signs. But that reasonable conjectures do not always turn out as expected, even if one concludes strictly from what is likely things (that come) of reasonable argument, [one must, at least,] agree, even if by hypothesis. Even the sage’s most reasonable conjectures may still turn out to be wrong. Of course, we may presume that the expert teacher’s solid grasp of the art of teaching allows him to reduce the number of errors to an absolute minimum. Yet, it is important to note that even a perfect theoretical knowledge and practical execution of the therapeutic art of teaching is no absolute guarantee for the achievement of the art’s desired result. Epicurean philosophy, on the other hand, is consistently presented as a guaranteed way to achieve true happiness. The person who successfully studies Epicurean doctrine and consistently applies its principles to every single situation will with absolute certainty become wise and perfectly happy. Even if pure chance or an occasional error of judgement cause the sage to experience events which may cause him to experience a brief pang of pain, his finetuned rational capacities and his profound understanding of the nature of things will protect him against anything that might disturb his tranquility in a significant way. The final lines of Epicurus’ Letter to Menoeceus entail an unconditional promise of supreme happiness:89 ταῦτα οὖν καὶ τὰ τούτοις συγγενῆ μελέτα πρὸς σεαυτὸν ἡμέρας καὶ νυκτὸς πρός τὸν ὅμοιον σεαυτῷ, καὶ οὐδέποτε οὔθ᾿ ὕπαρ οὔτ᾿ ὄναρ διαταραχθήσῃ· ζήσῃ δὲ ὡς θεὸς ἐν ἀνθρώποις.

87 Gigante (1975), 55; 57; (1983), 62–67. 88 Lib. dic. fr.57.1–11; transl. Konstan et al. (1998). 89 Epic., Ep. Men. 135; transl. Hicks (1931).

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Exercise thyself in these and kindred precepts day and night, both by thyself and with him who is like unto thee; then never, either in waking or in dream, wilt thou be disturbed, but will live as a god among men. The expert practitioner of the τέχνη of philosophy, then, does not need to cope with a margin of error. Whoever embraces Epicurus’ teachings and uses them continuously will never again have to settle for anything less than the life of the blissful gods. Moreover, teaching philosophy and administrating Epicurean therapy aims to improve others’ chances to achieve happiness. Even if the wise teacher will eventually benefit himself from his own teaching activities, thanks to the gratefulness, friendship, and improved character of his students, his teaching does not always lead directly to his personal pleasure. On the contrary, it may even involve the unpleasant application of harsh frank speech and occasional clashes with unruly students. Epicurean philosophy, on the other hand, is not directly concerned with the pleasure of others. Rather, it provides the philosopher with a sure method to attain supreme personal pleasure. The vicissitudes of certain other people, notably one’s friends, may still be important, but only as an instrument towards one’s own happiness. The art of teaching, then, which is concerned with the moral education and happiness of these others, contributes to the sage’s personal happiness through the results that it produces, and is, as such, a useful τέχνη. Yet, its designated τέλος is in the first place the moral health of others, rather than its practitioner’s own pleasure.90 The Epicurean art of teaching, then, is radically different from philosophy itself. Not only does it serve a significantly different purpose, its conjectural nature differs also radically from philosophy’s absolute guarantees. The former’s principal purpose is to gradually prepare the student for the latter. The teacher’s efforts to instruct his pupil might be subject to mistakes every now and then, but whatever doctrine the latter is able to interiorize and put into practice will unfailingly lead to happiness. In sum, the art of teaching philosophy and curing sicknesses of the soul is different from, but auxiliary to the art of philosophy itself. The former is conjectural in nature and generally achieves its goal, which is to provide people with the means to become wise. Philosophy, on the other hand, aims to make people perfectly happy and unfailingly allows its expert practitioners to reach this goal.

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Of course, the Epicurean teacher may also derive pleasure from the discussions with his students. This pleasure is, however, not the art’s primary aim.

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4.3.4 Are All Sages Expert Teachers? Obviously, mastery of philosophy is absolutely necessary for the sage. The art of teaching philosophy, on the other hand, is clearly appropriate for the sage, but the question is whether this τέχνη is also necessary. As we have seen, the sage has good reason to teach his new friends how to be proper Epicureans. Yet, does he need to be an expert in order to accomplish this or does it suffice if he teaches them purely on the basis of his own understanding of Epicureanism? In other words, should the sage necessarily master the τέχνη of teaching on an expert level, in the same way that a cook has mastered preparing dishes? Or is it enough if he teaches on a less specialized level, that is attainable for virtually everyone, in the same way that anyone can prepare edible food without the need for specific training? Because teaching is a conjectural art, not all teachers will have the same success rate, regardless even of their individual skill. Yet, if it is not necessary for every sage to master the art of philosophical teaching in its most specialized form, there might be considerable differences in success rate between sages. Epicurean orthodoxy prescribes that all sages are equally wise.91 Every sage has mastered the ars vivendi to the same level of perfection. Yet, if the ars vivendi and the ars docendi are two separate arts, all sages may be equally skilled in the former, which defines their very sagehood, but may perhaps be more or less skilled with regard to the transmission of their knowledge to other people. As a result, we might perhaps imagine a sage who is perfect qua sage, but who is a mediocre or even a downright bad teacher. In fact, Philodemus’ De liberate dicendi seems to confirm this hypothesis:92 καὶ κ]αθάπερ ἐντ[έχνως] χοροδ[ι]δασκαλούντ[ω]ν, ἐν φιλοσοφίαι· καὶ τὸ[ν] μὲν ἀκράχολον εἶναι κα[ὶ] κυνώδη πρὸς ἅπαντας, ὡς πάλιν ἄλλοι [τ]ινές εἰσιν· τ[ὸ]ν δ᾿ ἀεὶ βληχρόν· καὶ τὸν μὲν εὖ κατὰ πᾶν, τὸν δ᾿ ἐλλε[ι]ποντως κατά τι παρρησιάζεσθαι. πάντες γὰρ ὁμοίως καὶ φιλοῦσι κατ᾿ ἀξίαν ἑκάστου καὶ τὰς ἁμαρτίας βλέπουσι καὶ τὰς διὰ παρ[ρησίας. [and] just as in the case of those who train choruses [skillfully], (so also) in philosophy: and one (sc. teacher) is sharp-tempered and cynical toward everyone, as certain others are in turn, while another is always mild; and the one speaks frankly about everything in a good way, but another does so deficiently in some respect. For all (sc. the teachers) both love (their 91 D.L. 10.120. 92 Lib. dic. 3b.1–14. Text by W. Benjamin Henry and translation as printed in Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 68, modified.

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students) alike in accord with the worth of each and see their faults alike and, through [frankness]. The shortcomings of Epicurean teachers that are mentioned seem to go beyond wat one might call forgivable miscalculations as a result of their art’s conjectural nature. The issue with these teachers is not that they occasionally misjudge their patients or use the wrong type of frank speech on them. Rather, they are simply unable to employ more than one style of teaching, irrespective of what the situation actually requires. If they even possess any didactic φιλοτεχνία at all, it is most certainly not ποικίλη. Whereas the expert teacher is versatile enough to select the proper teaching technique from an ample repertoire, the teachers in this particular passage are either always harsh or always mild. Even more alarming is the fact that some of these wise teachers do not merely allow their own dispositional traits to color their teaching style. In fact, some teachers are said to use frank speech in a somewhat deficient fashion. This means that some do not only perform the art of teaching in a less than ideal way, but even perform it downright badly. A teacher who is always harsh or always lenient is certainly not the very best teacher, but one who actually botches the application of frank speech itself in some way might even be called a ‘bad’ teacher.93 This passage does not explicitly state whether or not these teachers of philosophy are sages. It is, however, important to note that De ira 36.17–28 addresses the topic of sages who may seem irascible on account of their tendency towards frequent use of frank speech. Here, Philodemus refers explicitly to De libertate dicendi, where he says to have discussed this phenomenon at length.94 We cannot be entirely certain that Philodemus is specifically referring to this passage in De libertate dicendi, but his statement in De ira indicates at the very least that sages may indeed be prone to certain imbalances in their use of frank speech.95 93 Nevertheless, if he is a sage or perhaps even merely a good Epicurean, he is no bad teacher from a moral point of view. Truly bad teachers who also lack the moral qualities needed to teach, are discussed elsewhere in De liberate dicendi: see Tsouna (2007), 110–113 on this. 94 Ira 36.17–28: … ὥ[σπερ] τινὲς [σο]φοί τινων μ[ᾶλ]λον ἀποδώσουσι φα[ντ]ασίαν ὀ[ρ]γίλων, οἷς ἡ φυσικ[ή, καθ᾿ ἃ προείπαμεν, πρόσεστ[ι] μᾶλλόν εἰσι, δι᾿ ἃ[ς] αἰτίας ἐν τῶι Περὶ ⟦π⟧ π[αρ]ρησίας λόγωι κατετάξαμεν, ἢ τὰ τοιαῦτα συνκεκύρηκεν αὐτοῖς μᾶλλον: ‘… just as some sages will present the impression of being irascible more than others, (namely) those in whom there is more natural [anger] present, as we have said before, or who are more given to frank criticism for the reasons we listed at length in our On Frank Speech, or because such things happen to them more often’ (transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020)). 95 Cf. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 67–71; 273, n. 181.

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Another passage which mentions the didactic failings of certain teachers can be found in De ira. Interestingly, this passage is specifically concerned with sages, rather than with teachers in general.96 Here we read that certain sages are, apparently, wont to be snappish towards their students and to jump to conclusions about their behavior:97 διὰ τὸ φ[ιλεῖν] ἐπιτίμησις πυκν[ὴ καὶ] πᾶσι τοῖς γν[ωρ]ίμο[ις] ἢ τοῖς πλείστοις καὶ ἐπιτεταμένη – πολλάκις δὲ καὶ λοιδορητικὴ ψυχῆς εὐκινησίαι – καὶ πρὶν ἐνθυμηθῆναι συντετελεσμένως τὴν ἀτοπίαν ἐπὶ πίων. because of his (sc. the sage’s) af[fection] (for them), frequent and quite intense rebuking of all or most of his disciples – often even reviling, out of quickness of spirit – and before fully realizing over what sort of things their misbehavior (occurred). This is hardly the sort of behavior that we would expect from someone who is truly versed in the art of philosophical teaching. Of course, even these quick-spirited sages are perfectly wise and blessed with undisturbed tranquility, which means that even their brief outbursts in the class room will not cause them significant disturbances. Such a person’s possible deficiency as a teacher does not impact his quality as a sage. It remains, however, to be seen whether his students would not have preferred a more equilibrated teaching style, tailored to their educational needs, rather than to the teacher’s dispositional characteristics. It would seem, then, that not all sages are expert teachers. However, so Philodemus points out, this does not mean that they have an inferior understanding of human psychology, nor do they care less about the wellbeing of their students. All teachers are equally well-equipped to notice their students’ moral faults and will gladly try to remedy them with whatever didactic and therapeutic skills they have at their disposal. The pleasantness and effectiveness of their approach, on the other hand, will not always be on the same level. It would seem, then, that the art of teaching in its most specialized form is no necessary skill for a sage. Yet, Philodemus’ own interest in the various 96

Nine lines are missing at the beginning of this passage and another ten in the first part of the subsequent column. Yet, the entire section is clearly centered around Philodemus’ attempts to refute the accusation that the Epicurean sage might be prone to irascibility. There is no reason to believe that Philodemus’ statements about the sharp-tempered teacher in Ira 35 might not pertain to sages, rather than to ordinary teachers. 97 Ira 35.17; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020).

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technical aspects of teaching and frank speech suggests that it must certainly have been appropriate for the sage to master this art to its perfection. As we saw with regard to the property manager, the sage will not master any art other than philosophy at a level which goes beyond that which directly contributes to the good life. As regards property management and money-making, the sage will only spend so much time on it as he can easily spare from his more pleasant pursuits. More importantly still, he will only invest this time and energy into the management of his financial affairs because it allows him to take better care of himself and his friends. In this light, even advanced mastery of philosophical teaching may be considered beneficial for the sage’s happy life in the company of friends. The ability to optimize the Epicurean education of prospective new friends is, no doubt, a valuable asset for a sage, who is, after all, perpetually eager to expand his circle of friends. Moreover, a versatile teacher, who can tailor his didactic and therapeutic techniques to the specific needs and characters of his students is less likely to experience unpleasant clashes with students and will probably even derive direct pleasure from his teaching. The sage will, at any rate, not become a professional teacher, as we saw earlier. Even a sage who has acquired expert teaching skills uses them primarily out of philanthropy, the desire to make new friends, and the hope and expectation that his willingness to share will engender gratitude. The craftsmanship of the professional teacher, whose only aim is to make money, has no appeal for the sage, who will only charge a fee for his lessons if imminent poverty leaves him no other choice. It is, however, very likely that, in the end, every individual sage has to make his own rational calculus of the efforts involved in finetuning this particular skill and the benefits that this might yield. Based on Philodemus’ references to imperfect Epicurean teachers, it would seem that not every Epicurean teacher, and possibly not even every Epicurean sage deemed the possible advantages of expert teaching skills worth the effort of acquiring them. Considering that Philodemus’ own teacher, Zeno of Sidon, is reported to have been an acriculus senex,98 it is unsurprising that we read in De libertate dicendi that even these teachers with lesser didactic skills compensated their flaws with their excellent understanding of human vice and their commitment to the wellbeing of their students. Philodemus himself, on the other hand, certainly made a 98 Cic., Tusc. 3.28. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 69, n. 160 note that Cicero’s acriculus is probably a pun on the Greek term ἀκράχολος, used by Philodemus to refer to quick-tempered sages (Ira 36.3; Lib. dic. 3b4).

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different decision than his less proficient colleagues and had, no doubt, some good reasons for this. He was, after all, one of those Epicureans who made a living by virtue of their prowess as a teacher of philosophy. In Philodemus’ case, the time and energy that he would have invested in the further development of his teaching skills was, in all likelihood, well compensated by the profound gratitude and friendship of Piso and other Roman aristocrats, which enabled him to lead a comfortable life devoted to friendship and philosophy.99 99

Based on Philodemus’ enthusiasm for the use of different types of frank speech and various teaching techniques, we may probably assume that he also found considerable joy in the act of teaching itself.

Chapter 5

Strategies of Interaction: How to Deal with the Morally Deficient celsa tu mentis ab arce // despicis errantes, humanaque gaudia rides Statius, Silv. 2.2.131–132

∵ 5.1

The Sage’s Downward Gaze

5.1.1 Magnanimity and Disdain 5.1.1.1 The Epicureans and μεγαλοψυχία Philodemus’s sage is a magnanimous sage. This also appears from his addition to Epicurus’ KD 5, according to whom living pleasurably, justly, and virtuously cannot be separated. If one wants to live a pleasant life, which is, of course, what any Epicurean should always strive to do, one cannot go around breaking the laws or indulging vices, lest one’s hopes of happiness be squashed by the highly unpleasant consequences of such behavior.1 Philodemus expands this precept with a number of additional prerequisites for the pleasant life:2 οὐκ ἔστιν ἡδέως ζῆν ἄνευ [τοῦ φρονί]μως κ[αὶ καλ]ῶς [καὶ δικαί]ως, ἔτι δ᾿ ἀνδ[ρ]είως [κ]α[ὶ ἐγ]κρατῶς καὶ μεγαλο[ψύ]χ[ω]ς καὶ φιλοποητικῶς κα[ὶ φιλανθρ]ώπως καὶ καθόλ[ου πασῶν] τῶν ἄλλων ἀρετῶν ὑπα[ρ]χουσῶν. it is impossible for one to live pleasurably) without living prudently and honourably and justly, and also without living courageously and temperately and magnanimously, and without making friends and without being philanthropic, and in general without having all the other virtues.

1 See, for example, KD 35 on the risks involved in breaking the law. Cf. Seel (1996) and Roskam (2012). 2 Elect. et fugae 14.1–9; transl. Indelli – Tsouna-McKirahan (1995).

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Considering that the sage is by definition the only person who is able to live his entire life pleasurably, μεγαλοψυχία must be a characteristic of every Epicurean sage. Although not part of the original formulation of KD 5, the presence of the positive virtue of μεγαλοψυχία in Epicurean ethics is in all likelihood not a Philodemean innovation. Diogenes Laertius reports that Metrodorus already devoted an entire work to it.3 More important even is that, according to Philodemus, Epicurus himself always instructed his followers to μεγαλοψυχεῖν.4 In the present chapter I do not aim to explore all the different aspects that may be part of Epicurean μεγαλοψυχία, nor will I provide a systematic comparison with the Aristotelian and Stoic conceptualizations of this virtue.5 The express aim of this chapter is to depart from Philodemus’ treatise De superbia, where μεγαλοψυχία is mentioned, and to explore the relationship between greatness of soul and the vice of arrogance, focusing on καταφρόνησις as the common ground between both extremes. 5.1.1.2 Disdain: μεγαλοψυχία vs. ὑπερηφανία In the treatise De superbia, Philodemus cites a passage from Aristo, mostly believed to be the Peripatetic philosopher Aristo of Ceos.6 The cited passage states that the arrogant person feels disdain for other people. The reason for this is that he attaches too much value to factors that lie beyond his own control, and which are therefore the province of τύχη, whom the Epicureans always regard with deep mistrust.7 The great-souled person, on the other hand, is said to look down on these things because he has a correct grasp of their relative value. Yet, there is reason to believe that the great-souled sage will also look down upon certain people, albeit for different reasons than the arrogant

3 D.L. 10.24. 4 Phld., Epic. 17.16–17. 5 Both schools’ views on that topic have received ample scholarly attention, including Gauthier (1951), 55–118; Hardie (1978); Schütrumpf (1989); Cooper (1989); Curzer (1990); Hanley (2002); Bae (2003); Pakaluk (2004); Crisp (2006); Liatsi (2011) and Russell (2012) for Aristotle, and Gauthier (1951), 119–156; Dyck (1981) and Baraz (2016) for the Stoics. 6 Cf. e.g. Tsouna (2006) and (2007), 143. It has also been argued that this Aristo is in fact the Stoic Aristo of Chios (cf. Ioppolo (1996); Ranocchia (2006)). More important for any research on Philodemus’ philosophy is the fact that he appears to be in complete agreement with those parts of Aristo’s assessment of the vice of arrogance which he integrates in his own treatise De superbia. Aristo’s letter, cited by Philodemus, may have borne the title Περὶ τοῦ κουφίζειν ύπερηφανίας. 7 Cf. Tsouna (2007), 155–158. The Epicureans repeatedly stressed the importance of limiting the agency of chance in our lives: e.g. Epic., Ep. Men. 133–135; Diog. Oen. Fr. 71 I–II. See also Verde (2013) and Heßler (2014), 294–324.

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person, as we will see in what follows. Let us, however, first take a look at Philodemus’ citation of Aristo on the topic of disdain:8 και διαιρε[ῖν] μεγαλοψυχίαν ὑπερηφαν[ί]ας, ἀλλὰ μὴ συμφύρειν ὡς ἓν καὶ ταὐτό⟦ν⟧· διαφέρει γὰρ ὅσον καὶ [ἐ]πὶ τοῦ σώματος οἰδήσεως εὐεξία, καὶ ἔστιν τοῦ μὲν μεγαλοψ[ύ]χου τὸ καταφρονεῖν τῶν τυχη[ρ]ῶν ὑπε[ρ]έχοντα τῶι τῆς ψυχῆς ὄγκωι, τοῦ δ᾿ ὑπερηφάνου τὸ διὰ κουφότητα ταύτης ἐκπνευματούμενον ὑπὸ κτήσεως ὑπερορᾶν ἑτέρους. And (Aristo says that one is) to distinguish greatness of soul from arrogance, and not to lump them together as one and the same thing. For the difference is as great as in the case of the body physical well-being (differs) from bloatedness, and whereas it is characteristic of the magnanimous person to despise the gifts of fortune because he surpasses (them) by the heaviness of his soul, it is characteristic of the arrogant person to look down on others because, through the lightness of his soul, he is inflated by possession(s). One notices that the dichotomy here is not a symmetrical one: as a proper counterpart to the claims about the arrogant person, we would have expected to read about the great-souled person’s disdain for other people or his lack thereof. Instead, however, Aristo, and with him Philodemus, capitalize upon the reason for the arrogant person’s arrogance: his attachment to high birth, material wealth, a good reputation, etc. The difference between the arrogant fool and the great-souled sage lies in the latter’s ability to discern between things that appear, and those that really are valuable for his happiness. About the great-souled sage’s attitude towards other people, we learn nothing in this passage. Yet, if Aristo is indeed a Peripatetic, then one might expect him to mirror Aristotle’s claims about the great-souled man. According to Aristotle, that type of person does indeed show disdain for those who are morally inferior to himself.9 This would in fact have been a logical completion for Aristo’s statement about the arrogant person: the arrogant man incorrectly despises others on account of irrelevant factors, whereas the great-souled sage rightly despises them on account of his own moral superiority. Nevertheless, this is not what Philodemus gives us.

8 Sup. 15.23–34. The Greek text has been drawn from Ranocchia (2007a). Translation by Stork et al. (2006), modified. 9 EN 1124a21–1124b6.

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5.1.1.3 Disdain ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου Does that mean that Philodemus’ great-souled sage does not feel disdain for morally deficient fellow human beings? The first part of Philodemus’ treatise suggests otherwise. Here he seems to defend the sage against the accusation of being arrogant:10 τισὶν δὲ οὐδ᾿ ἀ[ντι]κόπτω· θεωρῶ γὰρ οὐδ᾿ ὁμοιοτ[ή]των ἐνίοτ᾿ οὐσῶν ἐνίους ἔνια δοξάζοντας ἀέρι[α.…]αν … καὶ δυσμένει[α ..... κ]αὶ φθόνος οὐδ᾿ ἀν ……… οἶδα λέγον[τας] ἀλ .… σειν τινας .… λ .…. ουσαι ἔχοιε[ν ἂ]ν11 ἀφ[ορ]μὴν τήν [γε]12 ἐν ἑα[υτ]ῶι καταφρόν[η]σιν ἅπα[ν]τος τοῦ χυδ[αί]ου. κα[ὶ τὸν] κακισμὸν .. πι οικ … λο[ν] ἀφροσύν[η] .… η … ρα … ν προσδοχὴν ….… θε[ν] ἀνθρώπωι .…. ους ἐπιμε[ι]ξίαν αὐτῶ[ν κα]ὶ τὴν σεμνότητα [κ]αὶ [τ]ῆς ὄψεω[ς] κα[ὶ] τοῦ π[αν]τὸ[ς] βίου· φανερὰ δὲ τ[αὖτα, διότι προ[σ]ήκει το[ῖς φ]ρονοῦσιν καὶ δ[ι]ό[τι] κατα[.…. α]ι καὶ ὑπο[λαμβάνουσι]ν τοιοῦτον [εῖνα]ι τὸν [φ]ιλόσοφον· To certain things (sc. accusations)/persons (sc. accusers), I do not even respond. For I observe that, although, sometimes, there are no similarities (sc. between the arrogant person and the sage), some people image certain futilities [three words missing] and hostility [one word missing] and envy [one line missing] I know that they say [one line missing] they might have as starting-point the disdain in himself towards everything/everyone that is unphilosophical. And the reproach [one line missing] foolishness [one line missing] the reception [one line missing] for man. [one word missing] their intercourse and dignity, of their countenance as well as of their whole life: these things are visible, because it befits sensible people, and because [one line missing], they suppose that the philosopher is such a person. Philodemus admits that the sage can sometimes appear arrogant, without really being so. The reason for this apparent similarity is that the sage is filled with disdain towards everything (or everyone?) that is χυδαῖον, unphilosophical, and therefore morally inferior. The problem with this passage is that the genitive case here does not allow us to determine whether Philodemus is 10 Sup. 6.2–26. The text is based on the edition of Jensen (1911) for 6.2–19 and Indelli (2010) for 6.19–26. 11 Jensen prints ἔχοι ε…ν, but the apparatus criticus offers Sauppius’ more attractive reading ἔχοιε[ν ἂ]ν. 12 I follow Jürgen Hammerstaedt’s suggestion to supply [γε] instead of Jensen’s reconstruction [τε]. For Philodemus’ use of hiatus, see McOsker (2017).

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referring to ἅπας ὁ χυδαῖος (‘every unphilosophical person’, or even ‘the entire unphilosophical crowd’13) or to ἅπαν τὸ χυδαῖον (‘everything that is unphilosophical’). Both Sean McConnell14 and Voula Tsouna adopt the second reading.15 Yet, Tsouna’s reading of Aristo’s account on μεγαλοψυχία entails that the magnanimous person will also feel disdain for certain other people, which would be more compatible with a reading in which the phrase καταφρόνησις ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου refers to ἅπας ὁ χυδαῖος.16 If we accept McConnell’s view that Philodemus is saying that the sage does not really despise people, but only material things, there is prima facie no contradiction between col. 6 and Aristo’s words in col. 15. We can, however, ask how it would be possible for people to suspect the sage of arrogance if he merely disdains things like wealth and noble birth, but not the people who possess them. It seems very likely that his disdain would also be directed towards the people in which these attributes are present and who, like arrogant persons, build their own self-image upon them. The Epicurean is no Cynic who shows his disdain for material goods by rejecting them as provocatively as he can. As Philodemus explains in De oeconomia, the Epicureans had a longstanding debate with the Cynics on this matter, which goes all the way back to Metrodorus.17 The Epicurean position is that wealth is very much preferable to poverty. It should be welcomed as a means to satisfy one’s natural needs, on the condition that the effort which one has to put in acquiring it does not outweigh the benefits that it yields.18 Moreover, the possession of an amount of wealth that not only allows the Epicurean to take care of his own natural needs, but also to provide things for his friends, with whom he always likes to share things, is positive.19 The Epicurean’s attitude towards material goods, then, is hardly a reason for others to suspect him of arrogance. As far as something like noble birth is concerned, I do not even see how the sage could show disdain for it without also showing disdain for the people who actually are high-born and who attach too much value to this fact. A last option is that the Epicurean’s 13 Cf. Bon. rex 37.27–31, where we find the following phrase: (…) καὶ γὰρ τοῦτο πρὸς τὸν χυδαῖον ἔχει τι καταπληκτικὸν καὶ τοῖς κρατίστοις, οὓς χρὴ μιμεῖσθαι, παραπλήσιον. Here, ὁ χυδαῖος is used to indicate the common mass of unenlightened people. 14 McConnell (2017). 15 Tsouna (2007), 150; see also the French translation in Delattre – Tsouna (2010a), 618. 16 Tsouna (2007), 152–153. 17 Oec. 12.25ff. Philodemus’ treatment of the topic is in fact a continuation of the more detailed discussion in his earlier treatise De divitiis, which has been preserved very fragmentarily. For text, translation, and commentary, see Balch (2004), 179–186. An overview of the relationship between Epicureans and Cynics can be found in Gigante (1993). 18 Oec. 12.18–15.3. See also Asmis (2004), 149–161; Tsouna (2013), xxv–xxviii. 19 Oec. 15.1–6; 25.14–23.

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view towards (political) glory could play a role. It is a well-known fact that the Epicureans preferred to live an unnoticed life and that they avoided public careers because they considered these cumbersome and dangerous and above all a direct threat to one’s hopes of achieving a life of ἀταραξία and natural pleasure in the midst of like-minded friends.20 This part of Epicurean doctrine has certainly drawn a lot of polemical attention.21 Yet, even though the Epicureans are criticized for their lack of commitment to their fatherland,22 for the ignobility of their lives,23 and for the fact that secrecy often hides sordidness,24 there is no real indication that their refusal to participate in public life was ever called an actual demonstration of arrogance. For the fact that the Epicureans dared to ridicule the politicians themselves, on the other hand, there is ample evidence. The achievements of great politicians and military commanders such as Themistocles, Miltiades and Epaminondas are answered with laughter,25 as are those who would imitate the legendary lawgivers Solon and Lycurgus.26 It is not unthinkable that for The Garden’s opponents, this type of Epicurean laughter might also have been interpreted as an inappropriate manifestation of contempt, symptomatic for the sage’s alleged arrogance. However that may be, even if the sage’s critical attitude towards political engagement is erroneously associated with arrogance, then his disdainful laughter directed at people who engage in politics may still get him in trouble. Moreover, the word χυδαῖος is a recurring term in Philodemus’ works as well as in other Epicurean texts, where it almost always refers to common, unenlightened people as opposed to philosophers.27 Although not decisive in itself, this is once again an indication 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27

See Roskam (2007a) and (2007b) for an in-depth study of this Epicurean precept and its polemical reception. The most prominent example here is arguably Plutarch’s De latenter vivendo, which is written entirely for the purpose of criticizing the Epicurean ideal of leading one’s life outside the public sphere. Cic., Rep. 1.4–11. Cic., Fin. 2.67; Plut., Quaest. Conv. 655C. E.g. Plut., Non posse 1098C–D; 1100D; Adv. Col. 1127D–E; Cic., Fin. 2.67; Plut., Quaest. Conv. 655C; Lat. viv. 1128C; 1129B. Cic., Rep. 1.5 and Plut., Non posse 1097C (= Epic. fr. 559 Us.) ; Plut., Adv. Col. 1127B (= Epic. fr. 560 Us.). For an account on the function of laughter within Epicureanism, see Roskam (2019). Plut., Adv. Col. 1127B (= fr. 31 K.). E.g. M., 117.5; Poem. 5.26.3; Bon. rex 8.15; Epic., Nat. 14.30.1–3 (29.18.1–3 Arrighetti); Diog. Oen., Theol. 4. 5. In Mus. 4.140.2 Philodemus uses the word χυδαῖα in reference to the philosophical arguments of his Stoic opponents. Although in this case, the adjective does not exactly refer to persons, it is meant to convey the idea that these arguments are more fitting for the unphilosophical masses than for those who claim to be philosophers, like his Stoic opponents. Similar is Piet. 41.1182, where the term is used to refer to the

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that here too, Philodemus could very well be referring to people rather than to things. The argumentative structure of col. 6 provides an additional indication for this. Philodemus first explains why it is that some people erroneously think that the Epicurean sage is arrogant. As we saw above, one of the elements is the sage’s καταφρόνησις ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου. However, so Philodemus continues, these are visible traits that only make the sage appear arrogant. In reality, of course, he is not. The real arrogant person, on the other hand, is described as follows:28 καὶ [λέγ]εται δ᾿ ὑπερήφανος οὐχ ὁ ταῦτ᾿ ἔχων, ἀλλ᾿ ὁ φαινόμενος καταφρονητ[ι]κὸς καὶ πάντων, ὅπου φυλάττει τὴν ὑπερηφανίαν καὶ διὰ τῶν ἔργων, ὑβρισ[τὴ]ς καὶ καθόλου τοιοῦτος, οἷον ὁ χαρακτὴρ ἀπεσάφει. But it is not the man who has these things (sc. the outer semblance of arrogance), who is called arrogant, but he who is manifestly disdainful, and who treats everyone with insolence, in those cases where he maintains his arrogance also in his actions, and who is completely of the sort that this character sketch demonstrates. A pattern thus emerges: the sage appears arrogant on account of outward attributes, as well as his intrinsic καταφρόνησις ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου. The real arrogant person, on the other hand, is manifestly disdainful and treats everybody with insolence. A double antithesis can be discerned: on the one hand between the mere appearance of arrogant behavior and the actual expression of real disdain, and, more importantly, between disdain ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου and disdain πάντων. Clearly, the πάντων refers to ‘all people’, rather than to ‘all things’. It is, after all, one of the arrogant person’s main characteristics that he holds certain things, such as his own wealth, social standing, or good fortune in high regard. In that sense, he cannot be called insolent regarding all things. For the comparison to make sense, then, the sage’s καταφρόνησις ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου should, ideally, be interpreted as ‘disdain for every unphilosophical person’, as opposed to the arrogant person’s ‘disdain for/insolence towards literally everyone’.

unenlightened multitude’s base beliefs about the good and the harm that accrues from the gods. 28 Sup. 6.26–35; text by Indelli (2010) and Jensen (1911) (lines 26 and 34–35).

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5.1.1.4 An Alternative Antithesis in Col. 15? All things considered, I think that McConnell is right to stress the importance of the disdain for external factors in Philodemus’ ethical thought. Yet, I believe that he may be mistaken when he rejects the possibility that Philodemus’ sage can express disdain for other people as well. Indeed, although the cited passage from Aristo in col. 15 does not explicitly confirm that the sage will feel disdain for people who are morally inferior to himself, the first lines of the column seem to suggest that there exists a correct type of disdain towards others.29 For McConnell the antithesis between the magnanimous sage and the arrogant fool lies therefore in what it is they despise: the magnanimous person despises only material things, whereas the arrogant person despises people. The behavior of the former is motivated by the fact that the solid heaviness of his soul allows him to remain down to earth and to despise material goods, whereas that of the latter is caused by the fact that his soul is so light and flimsy that he attributes too much value to these goods. Yet, perhaps Philodemus and Aristo have a different antithesis in mind: one that lies in the motivation for the disdain of both characters, rather than in who or what becomes its object. Aristo states that μεγαλοψυχία and arrogance differ from each other like a body that is healthy and one that is swollen. Clearly, the soul of the magnanimous person is a solid and healthy edifice, whereas that of the arrogant person is but a flimsy thing. The former is able to withstand and despise the seducing influence of the gifts of fortune, whereas the latter is easily swayed by them. This causes him to demonstrate the behavior that is characteristic of one who suffers from arrogance: the disdain of other people. This results from one’s own incorrect evaluation of the worth of fortune’s boons. The antithesis between καταφρονεῖν τῶν τυχηρῶν and ὑπερορᾶν ἑτέρους, then, is not the pivotal point of Aristo’s argument here. What is important here is that the magnanimous person will καταφρονεῖν τῶν τυχηρῶν, while the arrogant person is by default unwilling to do so, causing him to be the sort of person who elevates himself above his fellow human beings for all the wrong reasons. If indeed, Aristo and with him Philodemus are not really discussing whether or not the magnanimous sage will also under certain circumstances ὑπερορᾶν ἑτέρους, albeit not on account of “inflation through possessions” or a failure to “disdain the gifts of fortune”, then the mere fact that Philodemus does not mention a sort of correct 29 Phld., Sup. 15.3–9: (…) [τὸ] δὲ δι᾿ ὧν προσήκει, [τ]ὸ δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ τοῖς μὴ π[ρὸς] ἡμᾶς ἀτιμάζει· καὶ νὴ Δί᾿ ὡς ἄδικον διὰ τοῦ ταπεινοῦν ἑτέρους ἑαυτὸν μετεωρίζειν, ἀλλὰ μὴ διὰ τὴς οἰκείας ὑπεροχῆς: ‘… on the other hand he (the arrogant person) treats (people) with disdain both on account of that which pertains to us and of that which does not depend on us. And by Zeus, how unjust (is it) to elevate oneself by bringing others down, and not through one’s own superiority’ (text by Ranocchia (2007), transl. Stork et al. (2006), modified).

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disdain towards others, appropriate for the sage, does not necessarily mean that such disdain does not exist. 5.1.1.5 Other Instances of Epicurean καταφρόνησις towards People Perhaps even more important is the fact that Philodemus himself expresses καταφρόνησις for certain other people in some of his other works. In De musica, for instance, he writes that one might feel disdain for the Stoics, who mistakenly claim that music can create harmony in our soul.30 In De pietate he even reports that Epicurus himself expressed καταφρόνησις towards other philosophers who propagated false beliefs about the gods.31 Also in De pietate, Philodemus states that καταφρόνησις is the proper way to regard people who ascribe to the gods characteristics which are unworthy of them.32 The Epicurean, by contrast, knows better than to fear the fury of the gods or to hope for divine intervention on his behalf, and for that reason, he is to be honored for his piety.33 It would seem, then, that καταφρόνησις is an appropriate attitude for the Epicurean sage, who reserves it for misguided thinkers in general, whose minds are infested with false opinions about the world around them. When Philodemus’ says that the sage is sometimes suspected of arrogance on account of his καταφρόνησις ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου, he is probably referring to the sage’s deeply rooted disdain for everyone who spurns Epicurus’ path towards true happiness, and chooses instead to rely heavily upon insalubrious false opinions about their own lives and the world around them.34

30 Mus. 4.79.33–36: ἔτι μᾶλ[λον … λ]αὶ καταφρονήσ[ε]ιεν [ἄν τις] τῶν φασκόντων τὴ[ν μουσικὴ]ν ἡρμοσμένας (…); cf. Delattre (2007), 96–97. 31 Piet. 51.1449–1451: δ᾿ ὡς ἡβα[σκόντων ἢ] ὀνειρωτ[τόντων] καταφρονῶ[ν]. 32 Piet. 41.1160–1165: [τ]οιοῦτον [οὖν ἄ]νθρωπον ἐν [εὐσεβ]είαι τιμῶμε[ν ἡμεῖς,] τοῦ δ᾿ ἐμφαι[νομ]ένου ταπεινοῦ καταφρονοῦμεν: ‘Such a person we honour for his piety, whereas the other we despise as manifestly depraved’ (transl. Obbink (1996)). 33 Cf. Phld., Piet. 1.26–27; Epic., Ep. Men. 123–124; Diog. Oen. Fr. 19. Of course, not everyone agreed that Epicurus’ belief that the gods do not care about our lives, should be called piety. The accusations of atheism that were voiced against Epicurus himself and his followers are well-attested. An expansive list of such passages can be found in Winiarczyk (1984), 168–170. See also Obbink (1989) and Giannantoni (1996). 34 The famous proem to the second book of Lucretius’ DRN may also be relevant here: Lucretius’ ataractic sage finds pleasure in the ability to look down upon (despicere) the tribulations of the unenlightened masses who scramble about in their miserable search for wealth and power. Clearly, despicere signifies literally gazing down from the edita tempa serena where the sage dwells, as well as looking down with disdain upon those who are morally inferior.

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5.1.1.6 The Philanthropic Sage and the χυδαῖοι It should, however, be noted that the Epicurean’s disdain towards οἱ χυδαῖοι does not impede his willingness to help these hapless people, provided, of course, that they are ready to acknowledge that they are in need of that help.35 Unlike the arrogant person’s disdain, which is based on false beliefs and seeks to bring others down,36 the Epicurean’s disdain involves the correct appraisal of the moral health of himself and the people he meets. The sage, then, is a kind philanthropist,37 who does not further disparage such people and is more than happy to have a civilized conversation with literally anyone who wishes to do so:38 [μηδὲ τῶν ἄλ]λων ἀνθρ[ώπω]ν ἐξ[ευτε]λιστήν μηδ᾿ ἑαυτοῦ θαυμαστὴν καὶ μάλιστα ἐ[πὶ] τοῖς ἐκ τύχη[ς· μ]ηδ᾿ ἐξηλ[λα]γμένον ἐν μηδενὶ φαίνεσθαι· μηδὲ δ[υσ]πρόσδεκτον εἰς ο[ἰκί]αν καὶ ὁμιλίαν καὶ τῶν λοι[π]ῶν μετάδοσιν· μ[ηδ]ὲ ἀναξίους ἀποφαίν[ειν ἑ]αυτοῦ πάντας. And he is no utter disparager of the other people, nor an admirer of himself, especially when it comes to the things which result from fortune; and he does not show himself to be changed in any respect, nor is he reluctant to make (others) welcome to his home, his company, and the sharing of the other things. And he does not declare all to be unworthy of him. In that respect, he is, of course, the exact opposite of the arrogant person. The latter spurns almost everyone’s company because of his wrongheaded belief in his own superiority, whereas the sage, who really is superior to all the χυδαῖοι around him, does not allow his disdain for their bad life choices and faulty convictions to interfere with his philanthropic way of life. Rather than focusing on these people’s moral lowliness, he actively tries to restore their mental health, and to build them up towards his own level of blissfulness. 5.1.1.7 Concluding Remarks It would seem, then, that De superbia does not allow us to conclude that the Epicurean sage’s greatness of soul does not include an element of disdain towards certain others. Considering that other passages clearly indicate that 35 36 37 38

Cf. Sen., Ep. 28.9. Sup. 8.11–12; 9.1–4; 10–11. Elect. et fugae 14, 6–7; Sup. 9.7–10. Sup. 9.1–10; text by Indelli (2010).

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Philodemus considers such disdain appropriate, it is not unlikely that, like Aristotle’s definition of μεγαλοψυχία, the Epicurean conceptualization of that same virtue also entailed both disdain for the blessings that derive from fortune and disdain for certain other people. One may in any case wonder why Philodemus’ claims in De superbia fail to bring absolute clarity with regard to the question whether or not the sage will also despise some of his fellow-human beings. To a certain extent, the work’s fragmentary state may be to blame for this. Even so, it is still remarkable that none of the preserved sections which address the sage’s attitude do so in a completely unambiguous way. On closer inspection, there might be something else at work. Indeed, we cannot rule out the possibility that this ambivalence may have been intentional on Philodemus’ part. Clearly, col. 6 is part of a section that tries to differentiate the sage from the arrogant person, claiming that, apparently, both types of people are sometimes lumped together by petty-minded people who bear the sage ill will. Similar apologies of the sage with regard to certain vices of which he is sometimes accused are found in De adulatione and De ira.39 Considering that Philodemus’ express aim in col. 6 is to demonstrate that the sage is completely different from the arrogant person, it might be considered a smart authorial approach to avoid any explicit admission that the sage will sometimes demonstrate disdain towards other people. Although Philodemus would no doubt be able to set the disdainful sage apart from the arrogant person, it is very likely that the mere idea of a sage who despises unphilosophical persons would still antagonize a lot of people. What makes matters especially dangerous is that, this time, he would not only be antagonizing rival philosophers. If the sage does not only despise noble birth, wealth, and political fame, but also every person who has these attributes and holds them in very high esteem, Philodemus would be admitting that he himself, as an Epicurean, despises every single Roman aristocrat who strives above all to honor the mos maiorum and to achieve glory as a statesman in the service of the Roman Republic. Considering the impression that Philodemus’ apologetical passages in De superbia and De adulatione are already some sort of answer to real allegations against himself and/or his fellow Epicureans, it is easy to see why a house philosopher like Philodemus, a foreign cliens living in a Roman’s house, would consider it very ill-advised to express a view that

39 Adul. PHerc. 222.2.2–7 and Ira 34.39–36.6. See Gargiulo (1981) for De adulatione and Tsouna (2007), 219–221 and Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 66–70 for De ira. Chapter seven discusses Philodemus’ apologetic strategies in detail.

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is wont to provoke the wrath of more or less the entire Roman aristocracy.40 If the context of De superbia is apologetical, as seems to be the case, one gets the impression that Philodemus is taking considerable care to sugar-coat the sage’s disdain for certain other people who attach value to external attributes as disdain for the attributes themselves, conveniently leaving the people who cultivate and extoll them out of the picture. 5.1.2 Pity 5.1.2.1 Introduction Extant evidence suggests that the good Epicurean will also experience pity.41 Unfortunately, there is no Epicurean definition of pity extant, not does any preserved Epicurean treatise specifically deal with this topic. As a result, our understanding of the Epicurean notion of pity is to be constructed upon the infrequent, yet unmistakable references to it which can be found throughout the texts of Philodemus and other Epicureans. In the absence of a clear Epicurean definition of pity it is, however, useful to depart from Aristotle’s authoritative and, above all, greatly detailed definition of pity, in order to gain a preliminary idea of what pity was generally believed to entail in antiquity. The definition in the Rhetoric runs as follows:42 ἔστω δὴ ἔλεος λύπη τις ἐπὶ φαινομένῳ κακῷ φθαρτικῷ ἢ λυπηρῷ τοῦ ἀναξίου τυγχάνειν, ὃ κἂν αὐτὸς προσδοκήσειεν ἂν παθεῖν ἢ τῶν αὑτοῦ τινα, καὶ τοῦτο ὅταν πλησίον φαίνηται. Let pity, then, be a kind of pain in the case of an apparent destructive or painful harm of one not deserving to encounter it, which one might expect oneself, or one of one’s own, to suffer, and this when it seems near. Aristotle defines pity as a kind of pain, experienced when one notices how someone else is suffering undeservedly. It should be noted that even a criminal can provoke pity, provided that his punishment is disproportionately severe compared to his missteps, and as such to some extent undeserved.43 Moreover, 40

Cicero also criticizes the Epicurean Torquatus for having views that can hardly be called salonfähig coming from a respectable member of Roman aristocracy such as himself (Fin. 2.74). 41 Epicurean pity has received relatively little attention. There are, however, a couple of studies worth mentioning, notably Konstan (2001), passim; Arenson (2019) and the response by Stark (2019); Piergiacomi (2019). 42 Arist., Rhet. 1385b2; transl. Konstan (2001). 43 Woodward (2004), 623.

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for pity to occur, the distance between the pitier and the pitied needs to be sufficiently great: if the person who suffers from an undeserved evil is our close friend or family member, we will also share in this suffering, but not on account of pity. In this case, our suffering will be due to the fact that our own life is directly affected by this evil, because our family member of close friend is part and parcel of our life. Pity, on the other hand, is a mechanism which allows us to be involved in the suffering of another person, who is in no significant way part of our own existence, and whose misery has no direct impact upon our own way of life. Yet, apart from this emotional distance, there must also be some sort of similarity between the person who suffers and his observer, in order to bridge this distance between the two parties to an extent that allows the latter to connect to the experiences of the former. The observer, then, has to discern enough similarity between himself and the other to be able to relate to the latter’s suffering. This similarity should make the observer realize that, although he is currently free from the observed pain and discomfort, the same misfortune could befall (or might already have befallen) himself or some of his friends and family members.44 In sum, then, the key criteria for pity are (1) undeservedness, (2) distance, and (3) similarity. Stark has intelligently pointed out that pity requires a hierarchic structure in which the observer occupies a superior position to the unfortunate object of his observations.45 The observer may briefly experience moderate pain when he establishes this emotional connection between his own comparatively happy life and the miserable existence of the other, but, in the end, this painful sensation is easily compensated when his observation of the other reaffirms and heightens his awareness of his own happiness. The astute reader will, no doubt, point out that this idea of painful things which are eventually outweighed by the pleasure that they bring sounds thoroughly Epicurean. Epicurus’ own discussion of goods and evils in his Letter to Menoeceus is, after all, concerned with this sort of rational calculus of pain and pleasure as a yard stick for every decision.46 As we will see in what follows, Philodemus and other Epicureans also refer to pity, albeit in a rather discursive fashion.

44 Arist., Rhet. 1385b2–3: δῆλον γὰρ ὅτι ἀνάγκη τὸν μέλλοντα ἐλεήσειν ὑπάρχειν τοιοῦτον οἷον οἴεσθαι παθεῖν ἄν τι κακὸν ἢ αὐτὸν ἢ τῶν αὑτοῦ τινα, καὶ τοιοῦτο κακὸν οἷον εἴρηται ἐν τῷ ὅρῳ ἢ ὅμοιον ἢ παραπλήσιον: ‘For it is evident that one who is likely to feel pity must be such as to think that he, or one of his friends, is liable to suffer some evil, and such an evil as has been stated in the definition, or one similar, or nearly similar’ (transl. Freese – Striker (2020)). 45 Stark (2019), 141–145. 46 Epic., Ep. Men. 129–130.

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5.1.2.2 Whom Does the Sage (Not) Pity and Why (Not)? 5.1.2.2.1 No Pity for the Dead First of all, we notice that Philodemus makes it perfectly clear which group of people is absolutely not deserving of pity: the deceased. Death is nothing to us and those who are dead do not feel anything, and are, therefore, neither happy nor unhappy.47 Some people might think that unfortunate circumstances surrounding a person’ death might be cause for some measure of pity, but, as far as Philodemus and his fellow Epicureans are concerned, these people are completely misguided. A young man’s life might be cut short, which is, from a certain point of view, regrettable indeed. Still, as soon as this youngster is dead, he is reduced to an unfeeling mass of rapidly scattering atoms, and as such nothing can befall him which might justify pity from the survivors who contemplate his death. In fact, a young man who has attained wisdom during his short lifespan has had a happier life than an old man who fails to secure wisdom in the many years of his long life.48 We should, at any rate, keep in mind that, no matter how happy or unhappy someone’s life may have been, they are all equally non-existent and therefore undeserving of pity as soon as the atoms of their soul lose their cohesion and slip out through the pores of the body of which they used to be part. Whatever happens to that body afterwards is equally irrelevant for feelings of pity. We might find solace in the fact that our dead friend’s body has been interred at a nice funeral, which brings people together to share pleasant memories of the deceased person. However, as far as pity is concerned, people who get a proper funeral are no more or less pitiful than others whose corpse is left to rot, defiled, eaten by scavengers, fed to the fish, or buried but unearthed and desecrated by graverobbers somewhere in the future. Admittedly, all the above teaches us more about the already well-attested Epicurean view on death than on pity itself. Yet, Philodemus’ repeated mention of pity in this context confirms at least one thing: Epicurean pity is felt by someone with regard to the suffering of another person, and only while that person is actively suffering at that very moment. As soon as that person is dead, further suffering becomes impossible, and, as a result, pity for this person would no longer make sense. This seems hardly a world-shocking insight, but the important point here is, in my opinion, that pity relates to the 47 KD 2: ὁ θάνατος οὐδὲν πρὸς ἡμᾶς· τὸ γὰρ διαλυθὲν ἀναισθητεῖ· τὸ δ᾿ ἀναισθητοῦν οὐδὲν πρὸς ἡμᾶς: ‘Death is nothing to us: that which has been dissolved has no feeling, and that which has no feeling is nothing to us’. For any scholarly question about the Epicurean view on death, Warren (2006) remains absolutely indispensable. 48 The classic example of a youngster who manages to achieve Epicurean wisdom at a very early age is, of course, Pythocles; cf. Phld., M. 101.34–102.3; Plut., Adv. Col. 1124C. See also Sedley (1976), 43–46.

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real suffering of another person, and not to our projection of purely imaginary suffering onto ourselves. Obviously, we do not like it when one of our friends dies. If we are good Epicureans, we are perfectly aware of the fact that the deceased friend is not in the least worried by his death, but that does not mean that we, who are still alive and very much capable of feelings, are not affected by the loss of his cherished company and friendship. This grief, however, has nothing to do with pity. Pity would effectively require the other person to be suffering in some way, which would be impossible in the case of the, for all intents and purposes, non-existent deceased person. 5.1.2.2.2

5.1.2.2.2.1

Pity the Fools Who Live Badly Merchants at Sea

Philodemus also gives examples of people who are to be pitied by the Epicurean sage. His first example concerns seafaring merchants:49 [ἐ]κε[ί]νους μέντοι, [ν]ὴ τὸν Δία, κα[ὶ] ψέγειν [καὶ] κ[α]κοδαιμον[ί]ζειν φυσικόν [ἐσ]τι, τοὺς διὰ φιλοκερδί[αν] τὸν ἅπαντα βίον ἐπ[ι]κυματιζομέν[ου]ς καὶ διὰ τοῦτο πο[τε1 βυ[θ]ιζομένους· ἀλλὰ τὸ ζῆν οἰ[κ]τρό[ν ἐσ]τιν αὐτῶν, οὐχ ὁ θάνατος, ὅτ᾿ οὐκ εἰσίν· On the other hand, it is certainly natural both to criticize and to deem wretched those who spend their whole life on the waves through love of profit, and are sometimes plunged into the sea as a result, but it is their life that is pitiable, not their death, when they do not exist; In this passage, he responds to the popular belief that it is somehow worse to die at sea than on land, on account of the fact that in the former case, one’s body is swallowed by the sea and cannot be retrieved by friends or family.50 This is of course ridiculous, so Philodemus argues, considering that there is no life after death and whatever happens to our body once we are dead is of no concern to us at all. Nevertheless, these merchants are deserving of pity.51 49 M. 112.25–31; transl. Henry (2009). 50 M. 111.31–112.23. Philodemus’ arguments here are quite humorous at times: he objects, for example, that one has no real need of the sea to drown, since one can as easily drown in one’s bathtub, and that these is essentially no difference between drowning in seawater or in unmixed wine, ‘because both are wet’. Armstrong (2004) argues that Philodemus’ more playful tone is due to the fact that De morte was meant for a broad audience, comprising both Epicureans and others. 51 Philodemus uses the term οἰκτρός, rather than the more common ἐλεεινός, which is typically considered the proper technical term. Most philosophers and orators seem to

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The question whether someone who dies at sea is pitiable or not does not depend on (the place of) his death as such, but on the reasons for which he chose to travel by sea. Wrong reasons are, for example, those of merchants, who face the unpleasantness and the dangers of sea travel for the love of money.52 Although the Epicureans do not deny that it can be a positive thing to have a certain amount of wealth, it is no end in itself, especially if it involves toil or hardship, which makes it detrimental to the Epicurean goal of the pleasant life.53 The merchant who spends his life at sea is therefore a pitiable creature, but only as long as he is alive. When he drowns, he is no longer pitiable, but merely non-existent, although we can, of course, still say that his life was pitiable and wretched on account of his wrongheaded life choices. 5.1.2.2.2.2

Criminals on Trial

A second passage which may be relevant for Philodemus’ view on pity is the following:54 ὅταν μὲν γ[άρ τ]ις ἔνοχος ὢν τοῖς ὑπὸ πλήθους ἢ δ[υνάσ]του κατακρ[ι]θεῖσιν αἰσχροῖς τυγχ[άνηι] τῆς καταστ[ρο]φῆς, ἄθλιο[ς μ]έν ἐσ[τιν· ἀ]λλ᾿ ὅτι ζῶν τοιαύτην [εἶ]λε δια[γωγήν,] οὐχ ὅτι τ[ε]λευτήσας ἔ[τι] κακὸν [οἴσει τ]ι διὰ τὴν ἀναδοξίαν. For when someone who is guilty of the shameful (acts) condemned by a multitude or ruler receives execution (as his penalty), he is wretched, but

have favored the latter, while playwrights and historiographers preferred the former; cf. Sternberg (2005). Although it has been argued etymological grounds that οἰκτρός may entail an extra connotation of grief or lamentation (cf. Konstan (2001), 53–54), in practice, it is rarely possible to discern significant semantic difference between both terms (cf. Ničev (1985), 61; Sternberg (2005), 22–24). In an Epicurean context it is highly unlikely that the misery of some foolish merchant would cause the ataractic philosopher to lament. Therefore, it seems safe to assume that Philodemus simply uses οἰκτρός as a synonym for ἐλεεινός. 52 Cf. Cato, Agr. 1 and 3–4, where the life of the merchant is described as periculosum and calamitosum. Horace’s first Carmen also names the sea-faring merchant’s incorrigible greed as the cause of his many troubles (e.g. 1.1.59–60). Cicero distinguishes between the wealthy merchant who runs a large enterprise and can eventually withdraw from the port to his estate, on the one hand, and his small-scale colleague who has to make his way from sea to port and back again, on the other (Off. 1.151). In Plato, we also find the idea that the trade that is engendered by the proximity of the sea tends to corrupt the city’s inhabitants, which makes the sea a less than ideal neighbor (Leg. 705a). 53 Oec. 12.18–15.3. See also Asmis (2004), 149–161; Tsouna (2007), 177–180 and (2013), xxv–xxviii. 54 M. 113.15–21; transl. Henry (2009), modified.

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because he chose this kind of lifestyle while alive, not because once dead [he will still suffer] something bad as a result of his ill repute. It should be noted that Philodemus does not use the terms ἐλεινός or οἰκτρός, which specifically denote pity, but the more general term ἄθλιος (‘wretched’).55 Yet, his argument here follows a course similar to his comments on the pitiful seafarer, where Philodemus uses both οἰκτρός and κακοδαιμονίζειν to evaluate the former’s life. The question is whether there is a relevant difference between the merchant and the criminal which might cause the sage to extend his pity to the former, but to withhold it from the latter. There are, in other words, three options here: (1) The sage will pity the merchant, but not the criminal. Philodemus’ use of the term ἄθλιος is in this case a meaningful choice. This would also raise the question of the ‘deservedness’ of the criminal’s wretched life, which is a problematic notion in Epicurean philosophy, as we will see in what follows. (2) Philodemus uses ἄθλιος, ἐλεινός and οἰκτρός indiscriminately to denote pitifulness. The sage, then, will discern no meaningful ethical difference between either type of people and pity both of them. The problem with this option is that it presupposes terminological sloppiness on Philodemus’ part. Although his use of οἰκτρός instead of ἐλεινός is relatively unusual in philosophical texts, the interchangeability of these terms is well-documented and might merely point to a desire to embellish his description of hapless seafarers with tragic vocabulary. The term ἄθλιος, on the other hand, may indicate a pitiful situation, but, in itself, it merely means ‘wretched’. (3) There is a real difference between ἄθλιος and ἐλεινός/οἰκτρός, but people who are wretched will automatically be regarded with pity by the sage.56 The sage will discern no meaningful ethical difference between either type of people and pity both of them. As in the merchant’s case, it is not the fact that the convicted criminal finds an untimely death that makes him wretched and/or pitiable, but rather that the life choices which have led to his death sentence were completely misguided and, above all, at odds with the ideal happy life. It is interesting to compare 55 Cf. Konstan (2001), 53–54. 56 Compare Socrates’ claim in Gorgias 469A: ὅτι οὐ χρὴ οὔτε τοὺς ἀζηλώτους ζηλοῦν οὔτε τοὺς ἀθλίους, ἀλλ᾿ ἐλεεῖν.

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Philodemus’ evaluation of the criminal’s situation against Aristotle’s definition of pity. Leaving aside the miscreant’s early death, which is, after all, irrelevant from an Epicurean point of view, we should ask ourselves whether or not Aristotle would consider the unhappiness of a criminal deserving of pity. The Aristotelian definition of pity stipulates that a person may only be pitied if his suffering is undeserved or disproportionate to his deeds. Clearly, our criminal is unhappy for a variety of reasons. Limiting ourselves to those points on which both Philodemus and Aristotle would agree, the criminal’s happiness is hampered by the fact that his activities are often dangerous, that he makes many enemies, and that he can never rest assured that the law will not catch up with him at some point, no matter how careful he goes about his business. Yet, can we say that these dangers and discomforts are undeserved or disproportionate to the severity of the criminal’s infractions? All things considered, one would be inclined to say that he has brought all these things upon himself and that they are, as a result, what he deserves. Is Philodemus’ decision to describe the criminal as ἄθλιος rather than οἰκτρός meaningful, and are we wrong to place the merchant and the criminal on the same footing? Is the criminal merely wretched, rather than pitiable, whereas the merchant is both? That would be a plausible hypothesis, were it not for the fact that there is, from an Epicurean point of view, no significant difference between the criminal’s case and that of the merchant. They mainly differ on two points: first of all, the merchant does not break the law, whereas breaking the law is precisely that which defines the criminal. Secondly, the merchant does not really harm other people (leaving aside that he may sometimes take advantage of them, if he senses that he can increase his profit), while the sort of criminal who is sentenced to death has usually done considerable harm to his fellow citizens. As for the first point, we should, however, bear in mind that the Epicureans regard the law as a mere social construct.57 It is, of course, a highly useful social construct, which enhances the Epicurean’s sense of security, but, morally speaking, disregard for the law does not make the criminal more pitiable than the merchant. It is wrongheaded to break the law, because one can never be sure that one’s infraction will continue to go undetected.58 Lawbreaking is detrimental to ἀταραξία and therefore at odds with happiness. Yet, so is love of profit, which causes the merchant to risk his life and to spend his entire life in fear of thieves, loss of 57 KD 33. Some good studies on various aspects of the Epicurean theory of justice can be found in Goldschmidt (1977); Vander Waerdt (1987); Alberti (1995); Cosenza (1996); Seel (1996); Morel (2000); Besnier (2001) and O’Keefe (2001); Roskam (2012); Spinelli (2018). 58 KD 35. Lucretius also mentions that, even if there are absolutely no witnesses to their crimes, wrongdoers still risk betraying themselves by talking in their sleep (DRN 4.1018–1019). See also Plut., Adv. Col. 1127D; Cic., Off. 3.39 and the discussion of this issue in Roskam (2012) and Seel (1996).

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cargo, taxes, and other calamities that might cost him his beloved fortune. In sum, both cause their own misery and the fact that one of them breaks the law and the other does not, is from this perspective not really relevant. More or less the same applies to the objection than the criminal will harm other people. From a Epicurean’s egocentric point of view, the criminal’s behavior is foolish, because he jeopardizes his own security. Not only does he have to fear the law, but he also makes enemies and misses out on the opportunity to make the people whom he harms into friends. Yet, the merchant is also susceptible to these same allegations: his time at sea keeps him away from the company of friends, whereas his love of money causes him to distrust people and to put profit above friendship. Therefore, he too is the architect of his own empty existence. Of course, the Epicurean would, in all likelihood, feel safer in the company of a merchant than in that of a murderer or a thief, but as far as either type’s moral worth is concerned, they both suffer from a similar illness, and the only elements that set them apart from each other are hardly relevant for an Epicurean assessment of the pitifulness of their existence. So, it would seem that there is, at least for the purpose of pitying them, no significant moral difference between the criminal’s case and that of the merchant. Philodemus’ use of ἄθλιος designates a person who is wretched because of his mental illness. This applies to both the merchant and the criminal. If Philodemus explicitly tells us that the former should be regarded with pity, there is, strictly speaking, no moral reason why the latter might only be considered wretched, but not pitiful. Moreover, the fact that someone causes his own unhappiness, does, apparently, not disqualify them from being pitied by the Epicurean sage, even though one would be inclined to say that they deserve whatever misfortune comes their way. The problem with Aristotle’s definition when applied to Philodemus’ view on pity is that Epicurean doctrine does not accommodate the notion of ‘deservedness’. The Epicureans do not accept a transcendent Good, nor a judgmental supreme being or a trial in the afterlife. If a criminal cuts someone’s throat and steals his purse in some shady alley, he does not do so because he is evil incarnate, which would be an untenable notion in an Epicurean framework. Instead, he acts as he does because he has made a thoroughly incorrect assessment of the advantages and disadvantages of such a course of action and because he entertains false notions about the relative worth of certain things, the nature of the happy life, and the right way to achieve it.59 He thinks, for example, that having enough money to acquire 59

Note that Epicurus traces all misdeeds back to three possible motives: hatred, envy, and contempt. All of these motives depend upon a false estimation of the relative value of things. The sage, on the other hand, uses his rationality to make a correct assessment of his desires and the roads that will most opportunely fulfill them, and is, therefore,

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cheap wine and the services of a similarly priced prostitute is what will get him as close to happiness as he may ever hope to get, and that killing a man in a dark alley where his deed will remain undetected is a small price to pay for the achievement of the aforementioned ‘happiness’. His reasoning is, of course, completely wrong and nothing good will come from it, but his criminal behavior is, essentially, rooted in false beliefs and utterly muddleheaded thinking. In sum, his mental disposition is an absolute mess and in dire need of Epicurean therapy. This is what might, perhaps, allow Philodemus to consider it a pity that our cutthroat had to spend his life with a severely diseased mental disposition. It is probably safe to say that, to Philodemus’ mind, things might have gone very differently if the criminal had been able to benefit from the kind attentions of an Epicurean teacher at an earlier stage of his life, before his mental sickness caused him to take actions that would prove fatal for his remaining chances of achieving true happiness. However, that does not necessarily mean that the sage is sorry to hear about the imminent execution of the criminal who has not received the proper therapy and has as a result become a murderer or a robber. In fact, he might even be pleased to know that this miscreant is being put to death, not because he feels a malicious joy at the other’s misfortune, nor because of a notion of ‘(un)deservedness’. Instead, he is quite simply happy to know that this particular evildoer will no longer pose a potential threat to his own safety. This last element may, in fact, offer an explanation for Philodemus’ decision not to use the term οἰκτρός to evaluate the criminal’s miserable situation. The latter might not differ significantly from the merchant with regard to his intrinsic moral quality, but the sage’s pragmatic evaluation of either person might be very different. Although the law is a social construct with no intrinsic value, it is valued by the sage to the extent that it safeguards his sense of personal security. People who ruin their own lives within the boundaries of the law are no more or less wretched than those who do so in defiance of the law. For the Epicurean sage’s personal safety, however, it is greatly preferable to share a city with non-lawbreakers, who are less likely to inflict physical harm upon him.60 In theory, then, the sage could feel pity when he sees a miserable criminal who is about to receive the death penalty, on account of the other’s moral wretchedness. Yet, in practice, his feeling of joy to be rid of that particular menace to not susceptible to ungrounded emotions or attitudes which could lead to injurious acts (cf. D.L. 10.117). 60 Assuming, of course, that the laws are beneficial to him. If a certain city’s law do not prevent people from physically harming the sage, he will probably not stay in that city for very long.

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his personal safety may very well supplant the pity that he generally feels for those who suffer from a diseased διάθεσις.61 5.1.2.2.3 Pity Not the Prudent Philodemus does not only discuss the pitifulness of people who end up in a sea storm and court houses on account of their vices and false beliefs. He also addresses the parallel cases of prudent and virtuous people who are unlucky enough to end up in the same situations as their unenlightened counterparts. Let us first turn to the passage in De morte which encircles Philodemus’ discussion of merchants who die at sea:62 τί γὰρ δεῖ λέ[γειν] τοὺς ἀ[π]ὸ φιλομα[θία]ς ἐπανάγομ[ένο]υς [ἢ το]ὺς ἕ[ν]εκα συνήθων πλέοντας [σο]φού[ς]; [τῶν] δ[ὲ] δι᾿ ἀ[ν1αγκα[ία]ς μὲν χρείας πλεόντων, τύχῃ δὲ ἀβουλήτωι συνκυρη[σάν]των, οὐδέτερ[ον], ἄλλως τε μηδ᾿ ἐξ ἀνάγκης τοῦ κα[τ]αστρέφειν ἐν θαλά[τ]τηι πόνους ἰσχ[υρ]ο[τ]έρους ἐπιφέροντ[ος]. For what need is there to mention those who put to sea out of love of learning, or the wise men who sail for the sake of friends? (…) while for those who sail on essential business, but meet with an adverse fortune, neither (is pitiable), especially as death at sea does not necessarily confer more violent sufferings. Although the merchant who sails for the sake of financial gain is pitiful, there are also good reasons to brave the sea. Educational pursuits, for example, can be an important factor in one’s progress towards Epicurean wisdom.63 If one is faced with the choice between staying at home where there is no Epicurean teacher at hand, or taking a risk to travel someplace where capable teachers

61 Perhaps the sage would eventually feel pity if the criminal were not executed, but condemned to lifelong imprisonment. In that case, the latter is still a criminal and thoroughly wretched on account of his faulty mental disposition, but the issue of the sage’s personal freedom is taken out of the equation. Then again, if the Epicureans held that one can never be completely sure that one will not be caught if one commits a crime, they might also reason that one can never be completely sure that this criminal will not regain his freedom at some point. 62 M. 112.23–25; 112.31–36; transl. Henry (2009). 63 In De bono rege, Philodemus seems to characterize Telemachus’ journey as a valuable experience, that helps him further his personal development (Bon. rex 23.14–19 Fish); cf. Fish (1999); Erler (2019), 133–134.

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can show the path towards true happiness, a sea voyage is a justifiable risk.64 Travelling for the sake of one’s friends is another reason for which one may take that risk. Friendship is, after all, a crucial part of Epicurean ethics, and the sage’s willingness to take risks to come to the aid of his friends is well-attested.65 There are of course still other situations imaginable in which the urgency of essential business might outweigh the dangers. Philodemus himself, for instance, travelled not only from Gadara to Athens for educational reasons, but also from Athens to Italy, in order to avoid the turmoil of the Mithridatic War.66 It seems, then, that the sage will brave the treacherous waves, but only if a rational calculus of all relevant factors shows that he has sufficient cause to do so.67 Interestingly, Philodemus adds that the person who leads his life well and makes all his decisions on the basis of a methodologically correct rational calculus, is pitiable neither in life nor in death. The last element is, of course, unsurprising in light of the Epicurean theory of death. However, one would expect that the person who does nothing wrong, but still gets caught in a fatal sea storm due to mere bad luck, would be deemed deserving of pity. The problem with this passage is that Philodemus seems to consider only two existential stages: alive and dead. When someone is dead, he does not exist, and is, therefore, undeserving of pity. His life, on the other hand, is considered in its entirety: either he leads his life in a misguided way, which makes his overall existence unhappy, and therefore pitiful, or they live wisely and happily, in which case their entire existence is to be deemed happy, and therefore undeserving of pity. As far as we can tell, there is no room for an evaluation of specific moments in his existence. Based on Philodemus’ words, it would seem that we cannot say that someone is usually not pitiable, but that he deserves pity when his wise and happy life is momentarily interrupted by unforeseeable bad luck. If so, then it is interesting to consider a hypothetical scenario in which the Epicurean sage gazes over a stormy sea and sees two small vessels struggling to stay afloat. One is piloted by a greedy merchant, who foolishly set sail without considering the weather conditions and inherent dangers of sea 64

The imagery used in Epicurus’ advice to Pythocles is also noteworthy: the latter is to hoist sail and steer away from all forms of παιδεία, as if this part of his philosophical education were an actual sea voyage (D.L. 10.6). 65 In fact, it is said that, on occasion, the sage will even be prepared to lay down his life for his friend’s sake (D.L. 120). 66 Cf. Gigante (2001) and Sedley (2003). 67 I also discuss this point in Nijs (2023), where I explore the relationship between the dangers of sea travel and the correct application of Epicurean sober reasoning.

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travel. At the other vessel’s helm, the sage recognizes a prudent man, who took his time to consider the weather, the chances of storm at that specific time of year, and the urgency of his sea travel. Both men have been surprised by a sudden and unforeseeable storm, and are now fighting for their lives, with all the pain and discomfort that this entails. Following Philodemus’ assessment of the merchant and the person who sails on essential business, our observing sage will look down upon the scene in front of him, and feel pity for the foolish merchant, but not for the prudent man, who is, at that moment, facing the same difficulties. The Philodemean passage is, of course, part of a typically Epicurean refutation of the fear of death and dying, and the stark contrast between living (either pitifully or non-pitifully) and being dead and therefore not pitiable, may be an argumentative feature, rather than a representative element of Philodemus’ view on pity. Perhaps the sage will also feel pity for the prudent man who has been caught up in a storm, and consider that specific moment of the unfortunate fellow’s life pitiable, even though the rest of it is happy, rather than pitiable. Nevertheless, the extant Epicurean evidence offers no evidence for this more nuanced use of pity, but points only to cases in which a person is either wholly pitiful, or not pitiful at all. Philodemus discusses the case of the shipwrecked man who sailed for foolish reasons and that of the sage, who correctly assessed all factors, but who is so unlucky as to be shipwrecked anyway. There is, however, a third type of luckless seafarer imaginable, whom Philodemus does not mention, for the simple reason that his refutation of the fear of death at sea does not really require him to do so. It is, nevertheless, interesting to reflect upon a scenario in which the traveler is not a full-fledged sage, but an ordinary person, who evaluates the pros and cons of sea travel and then decides to sail for the sake of a worthy cause. This person may make foolish mistakes all the time, but in this specific instance, his rational assessment of the situation would seem to be impeccable and when he is hit by a sea-storm and subsequently swallowed by the sea, even the sage himself would have to admit that none of these calamities were foreseeable. Now then, let us imagine that Lucretius’ wise observer, who looks down upon the stormy sea, sees not two but three struggling vessels, of which one belongs to an ordinary man who sails on essential business. Would he pity this last seafarer in distress? If we apply the criterion that we developed earlier with regard to the merchant and the sage, we have to conclude that the sage will certainly not pity this person on account of his death. Death itself is, after all, never pitiful. Yet, would the sage, perhaps, pity this person on account of his life? Although the decision to travel was taken on the basis of a correct

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rational calculus, many of this person’s other decisions are not.68 He may, for example, have decided to brave a seemingly calm sea in order to help a friend, because he correctly believes that friendship is extremely important. Yet, mere hours before he left, he may also have spent time worrying about money, his ambition to pursue a political career, or the fact that he should not forget to make a sacrifice in the local temple, lest the gods get angry at him. In sum, he may have ruined the enjoyment of his last hours on dry land with all sorts of foolish worries and fears, based on a faulty, and therefore truly wretched mental disposition. Assuming that the observing sage has this information on the seafarer’s propensity for foolish worries, he will probably feel pity for the sinking vessel’s passenger, who led his life in such a needlessly unpleasant way. Once again, it is not the other’s death, nor even the particular decision that led to it, that causes the sage to regard him with pity, but the mere fact that living with a diseased mental disposition is a truly pitiful affair. We can, however, add an extra dimension to this particular scenario. What if this person who based his decision to sail out on valid grounds, were, in fact, a student of Epicureanism, well on his way towards wisdom, but still not entirely cured of occasional relapses towards needless fears and desires? This particular scenario seems somewhat less straightforward. Naturally, the student’s death itself is not pitiful. Yet, his life, as it was at its culmination point, right before the crushing waves and the ocean’s murky depths snuffed it out, was not perfectly blissful either. The student’s mental disposition is far from perfect and, as such, one would expect the Epicurean sage to consider the former’s life pitiful. However, Philodemus’ discussion of the case of aspiring students who find out that they will die before achieving absolute wisdom seems to contradict this. He acknowledges that the prospect of these moribund youngsters is, indeed, unpleasant and, as such, even a brief bite of painful grief may be 68 In fact, it remains to be seen whether an Epicurean would even consider the ordinary man’s calculus to be methodologically correct. In order to answer the question ‘Should I sail for the sake of helping my friend?, he might correctly have taken the most obvious factors into account (e.g. the state of the sea, the probability of bad weather, the importance of friendship). Yet, in order to assess the desirability of sea travel, he should also reflect upon its foreseeable impact upon his own happiness. His preconception of happiness, however, is flawed. Otherwise, he would not make foolish mistakes at other times, nor worry about irrelevant matters. His rational appraisal of the situation, then, might be largely correct and its result might be identical to that of a completely correct rational calculus, but an Epicurean would, in all likelihood, consider it flawed anyway, because some of the premises which serve as input are flawed. Even if, in this instance, the faultiness of some of the seafarer’s convictions and preconceptions is not decisive for the outcome of the rational process, the whole thing might still be considered methodologically incorrect.

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forgiven.69 They can, however, find solace, in a couple of thoughts, as he points out. One of these is the fact that their incomplete philosophical progress has at least provided them with the enjoyment of considerable pleasure.70 This kind of statement would suggest that, if the student dies before his time, his life should, at any rate, not be deemed wretched. Moreover, Philodemus suggests that, once the student has tasted the enjoyment of philosophy, he will immediately grasp the fullness of Epicurean blissfulness, even if he has not yet completely achieved it. As a result, his dying moments will still be illuminated by the exultation of knowing what supreme bliss looks like.71 All things considered, the sage will probably look differently upon the student’s sinking vessel than on those of the foolish merchant and the ordinary person who sailed on essential business. Perhaps, he will also feel a pang of regret at the lost opportunity of watching the young man become wise and being able to welcome him one day as his peer. Yet, in light of Philodemus’ consoling words on the case of dying would-be sages, it seems unlikely that he would still consider someone pitiful once that person has had the opportunity to taste the exquisite fruits of Epicurean happiness. 5.1.2.3 Redefining Weakness and Pitifulness: Two Elucidating Examples 5.1.2.3.1 Philodemus on Women An important passage for our understanding of Philodemus’ conceptualization of pity is found in De libertate dicendi. A discussion of different groups of people who tend to react poorly to harsh criticism includes the following remark on women who submit themselves to Epicurean therapy:72 [καὶ ἀξιοῦσι] τὴν φύ[σεως] ἀσθένειαν ἐλεεῖσθαι καὶ συνγνώμης τυγχάνειν καὶ μὴ προπηλακίζεσθαι πρ[ὸ]ς τῶν ἰσχυροτέρων ἐξεπί[τη]δες. ὅ[θε]ν καὶ ταχέως ἐπὶ τ[ὰ] δάκρυα καταντῶσιν, ἀπὸ καταφρονήσεως ἐπικ[ό]πτεσθαι νομίζουσαι. [and they (sc. women) think it right] that the weakness of their [nature] be pitied and that they meet with pardon and not be intentionally ridiculed by those who are stronger [than they are]. Hence they quickly reach [the point of] tears, believing that they are being reproved out of contempt. 69 M. 96.32–36. This passage and the issue of painful ‘bites’ and ‘stings’ of grief will be discussed in more detail in sections 6.1.3 and 6.1.5. 70 M. 98.6–11. 71 M. 97.1–9. 72 Lib. dic. 22b.1–9; transl. Konstan et al. (1998).

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In the present passage we read that women who wish to receive moral therapy from an Epicurean teacher often follow this conceptualization of pity. They think that they lack the physical strength and manly virtues of their male counterparts. This leads them to believe they are inferior to them and should be pitied by their teacher, rather than to be criticized as severely as their male colleagues, who are, after all, stronger, and therefore better equipped to deal with the teacher’s frank speech. When they notice, however, that the Epicurean does not treat them differently from the male students, they start to cry, believing that he holds them in contempt. Pamela Gordon cites this passage as a disappointing example of Philodemus’ acceptance of unattractive stereotypes with regard to women’s capacities, which seems to belie the Garden’s almost legendary egalitarianism.73 Yet, I believe this is a somewhat uncharitable reading, which hardly does justice to Philodemus’ true intentions in this passage. He does not say that women should be addressed with a mitigated type of frank speech because they are weaker, but because they think they are weak and therefore deserving of pity. In other words, what Philodemus says is not that women are weak, but that, as far as he can tell, their own self-image is one of weakness.74 Therefore, the Epicurean teacher should be careful when he criticizes them because their beliefs about weakness, strength, pity, and contempt may often cause them to react badly to any other sort of criticism. Philodemus’ suggestion is that these women’s beliefs about their teacher’s use of frank criticism are completely wrong. Their gender and lesser physical strength is irrelevant for the achievement of wisdom and the happy life, as far as the Epicurean is concerned. Without Philodemus’ words of caution about the way women might perceive frank criticism as a sign of contempt, the Epicurean teacher would, in all likelihood, treat them in exactly the same way as he would treat his male students. In other words: he would show them no pity whatsoever. Interesting for the present argument is that this passage suggests that the Epicurean would not consider the conventional idea of weakness sufficient reason to pity someone. As we saw earlier, the merchant is considered deserving of pity, even when he has not yet fallen victim to the disastrous consequences of his life choices. This means that a strong, yet foolish man in the prime of his life would be considered worthy of pity, as would a rich and influential merchant, whereas a frail woman would not 73 Gordon (2012), 107. 74 Similarly, society’s many conventions condition them to be overly concerned with their good reputation, which causes them to fear frank criticism, lest they be disgraced in front of others (Lib. dic. 22a).

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be considered weak in any way that might stir a sense of pity in an Epicurean. Normally, pity is never felt for the strong and prosperous, but only for the weak and unfortunate, who are in a worse position than the pitier, and who lack the means to extricate themselves from their predicament. It would seem, then, that the Epicureans define weakness and strength in an unconventional way. From their perspective, the weakness of one’s mental disposition is the only valid criterion for Epicurean pity. If the Epicurean teacher would, by nature, be inclined to treat women more harshly than they would expect, it is not because he feels contempt for their ‘womanly weakness’, but precisely because, to his mind, they do not differ from their male colleagues in any way that might justify a milder treatment. The only reason why Philodemus would recommend a softer approach anyway, is because the women’s faulty self-image and convictions might make them less responsive to the harsher types of frank speech that fail to take this sensitiveness into account.75 If there is any aspect of their character for which the sage might indeed feel pity, it is, in all likelihood, the weakness of their not yet completely cured mental disposition, which is, of course, exactly what his use of frank speech is meant to remedy. 5.1.2.3.2 Epicurus on Household Slaves Perhaps a similar idea can be found in Epicurus’ own thought. Diogenes Laertius reports that Epicurus advised to pity one’s household slaves, rather than to punish them:76 οὐδὲ κολάσειν οἰκέτας, ἐλεήσειν μέντοι καὶ συγγνώμην τινὶ ἕξειν τῶν σπουδαίων. Neither will he (sc. the sage) punish household slaves, but he will pity them and pardon anyone of those who are good. At a first glance, one might think that these slaves are deserving of pity because they lack freedom and find themselves therefore in an inferior and far less fortunate position than their Epicurean master. Yet, it remains to be seen whether lack of personal freedom is in itself worthy of pity when considered within an Epicurean framework. If the household slave had achieved the sage’s ataractic state, he should be able to make all the right life choices and to be happy

75

He makes similar recommendations in the case of the elderly and the powerful (Lib. dic. 23a; 23b; 24a; 24b). 76 D.L. 10.118.

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in spite of his less than ideal social status.77 If there is one thing on which both Aristotle and the Epicureans would have to agree, it is that only the weak deserve pity and that it would be inappropriate to pity the strong, although they would define ‘weakness’ and ‘strength’ in very different terms. As we have seen above, Philodemus’ interpretation of pitiful weakness does not entail physical, social, or circumstantial vulnerability, but seems to focus exclusively on the weakness of one’s diseased mental disposition, as opposed to the indestructible strength of the sage’s ataractic mind. When Epicurus claims that one should pity household slaves, we may safely assume that these pitiable people have not (yet) achieved wisdom and the happiness that comes with it. If they behave in ways that would usually deserve punishment, the Epicurean sage should bear in mind that their missteps and unacceptable behavior are symptoms of their inability to distinguish between the actions that lead to happiness and those that do not. In this case, pity is presented as an alternative for punishment, because they are both possible reactions to the servants’ undesirable behavior. However, the wise Epicurean discerns the true reasons for this behavior and correctly ascribes them to the slaves’ diseased mental disposition, which is, from an Epicurean point of view, a serious weakness, worthy of sincere pity. The slaves who are said to be σπουδαῖοι, on the other hand, are already in the possession of a cured mental disposition. As a result, the Epicurean master can rest assured that, if his σπουδαῖοι servants ever commit an error that affects him personally, they did not act with the intention to harm him, as this would be at odds with their level of wisdom. It goes without saying that the sage would pardon an honest mistake committed by people with perfectly sound moral and rational capacities, rather than to punish it. In sum, the sage knows very well that these otherwise completely happy people do not require anyone’s pity. 5.1.2.4 How Does Pity Accord with Epicurean Eudaimonism? 5.1.2.4.1 General Remarks It would seem that Philodemus’s wise Epicurean feels pity for the weak, although his definition of pitiable weakness differs significantly from the more traditional view, as found in Aristotle’s text. There is, however, one important question which remains unanswered: if pity is a kind of pain, then why would the Epicurean sage not try to avoid experiencing it altogether? Epicureanism is, after all, concerned with the avoidance of pain, in order to maintain a steady 77 In section 8.3.2, we consider a slave’s chances of ever becoming an Epicurean sage in detail.

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level of katastematic pleasure. If pleasure is the Epicurean’s highest good, then pain is the greatest evil. Yet, the Epicureans were astute enough to see that matters are not always so clear-cut in daily life. Sometimes certain pleasures are to be avoided, if there is the risk that they will eventually lead to greater pain. Conversely, pain is sometimes choiceworthy, provided that it will produce a superior amount of pleasure.78 Medical procedures, for example, can be painful in their own right, but the fact that they will, ideally, restore one’s health outweighs the inconvenience they entail, not even to mention the far greater pain and discomfort that might arise from allowing one’s illnesses to remain untreated.79 The small amount of pain involved in feeling pity, then, can perhaps be worth the sage’s while, provided that it is generously compensated with pleasure. 5.1.2.4.2 Lucretius’ Observer: an Example of Pleasurable Pity? Fortunately, there is one Epicurean text that offers us an immensely famous example of the ways in which pleasure can be derived from the observation of those who are faring worse than ourselves. The proem to the second book of Lucretius’ DRN is arguably one of the work’s most famous passages:80 Suave, mari magno turbantibus aequora ventis, // e terra magnum alterius spectare laborem; // non quia vexari quemquamst iucunda voluptas, // sed quibus ipse malis careas quia cernere suave est. It is comforting, when winds are whipping up the waters of the vast sea, to watch from land the severe trials of another person: not that anyone’s distress is a cause of agreeable pleasure; but it is comforting to see from what troubles you yourself are exempt. The description of the observer who enjoys the sight of the roiling waves is the first of three pleasant situations: (1) watching the sea from safe land, (2) watching a battle from a safe distance (DRN 2.5–6), and (3) observing the misfortunes of all sorts of fools with a thoroughly ataractic disposition, as it were, from the

78 Epic., Ep. Men. 129–130. 79 Cf. Diog. Oen. fr. 33.4.11: ‘Examples of causes that precede are cautery and surgery saving life: in these cases extreme pain must be borne, and it is after this that pleasure quickly follows’ (transl. Smith (1993)). 80 Lucr., DRN 2.1–4; transl. Smith (2001).

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safe haven of Epicureanism’s elevated and reinforced temples (DRN 2.7–13).81 The third option is, of course, the best of all, because it offers the sage pleasure and tranquility at all times. The Epicurean observer looks down upon the foolish endeavors of his fellow human beings and rejoices in the fact that his wisdom allows him to make the right choices and to steer well clear from such precarious situations. Clearly, Lucretius’ wise Epicurean looks down upon the struggling fools beneath him, knowing that their suffering is due to the sort of wrong beliefs and poor life choices of which he himself is blissfully exempt. Lucretius is, however, careful to add that the observer’s pleasure is, in fact, no Schadenfreude at the expense of the suffering unenlightened. It is not the fact that these others suffer which brings him joy, but the firm knowledge that he himself is free from such troubles.82 The observation of suffering, then, only serves to heighten his awareness of his own happiness. It should be noted that this idea is, in fact, rather commonplace and most definitely not exclusively Epicurean. The practice of comparing one’s own fortune against the misfortune of others has numerous parallels in the writings of members of other philosophical schools.83 81 This particular passage has also drawn a lot of scholarly attention. For a number of recent studies, see, for example, Fowler (2002), 16–66; De Lacy (2007); Edmunds (2007); Mazzocchini (2009); Berno (2015); Eckerman (2020) and (2021); Nijs (2022b). 82 Compare the account by the Epicurean Boethus on the pleasurable observation of staged suffering in theatre plays (Plut., Quaest. conv. 673CD); see also Verde (2015), 210–211 and Piergiacomi (2019), 133. 83 Cic., Fin. 1.62; Plut., De tranq. anim. 470AB; Sen., Dial. 5.31.3 and Democr. 68B 191 DK (= Stob., Flor. 3.1.210), as pointed out by Grilli (1957), 261–263. See also Roskam (2007a), 88–89 and Broecker (1954), 104–106. A curious exception to this is Aristo’s advice, as cited by Philodemus (Sup. 12.1–12), which seems to envisage the opposite of the practice to compare oneself with those of inferior fortune. Measuring oneself against someone superior can engender envy (unless the other’s superiority is too immense, according to Plut., De inv. et od. 538AB), whereas the opposite can lead to arrogance. In both cases, the problem lies with the mental disposition of the observer: the wise person can observe either sort of person, at no detriment to his own happiness. If he sees his superior, he easily subdues any feelings of envy knowing that many things that seem enviable to the average person, are in fact not, and that the good fortune of someone else might even bring some sort of indirect benefit for himself. Yet, even though it does not pain him to observe someone of better fortune, he does not really derive much pleasure from it either, contrary to the observation of those who are less fortunate than himself. Moreover, for the sage, the elements that are enumerated by Aristo (wealth and power) are hardly characteristic of someone of superior fortune. Leaving aside the minimal influence of pure chance on the lives of individual sages, the only way in which an Epicurean wise man might, perhaps, be able to look at someone who is even more fortunate than himself, would be to direct his mental gaze towards the blessed gods themselves, of whom, here on earth, the sage himself is the closest approximant.

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Perhaps we could say that the Epicurean sage feels pity when he looks down upon these wretched fools, which causes him to momentarily experience a slight amount of pain. Yet, far greater is his immediate sense of pleasure in comparing his own ataractic existence to the misfortunes of his unenlightened fellow human beings.84 Ultimately, this little exercise reaffirms the sage’s 84 Arenson (2019) also believes that the proem to DRN 2 entails an example of Epicurean pity and reaches a conclusion similar to my own: ‘In the end, Epicureans will endure the psychological pain of pity in order to increase their own pleasure and minimize their own pain: pitying others strengthens interpersonal bonds, which in turn increases security, and pity allows Epicureans to achieve what may appear to some as a rather perverse pleasure from considering how much better off they are than others (136)’. It is, however, unlikely that the ancients shared the modern reader’s inclination to view this as a perverse pleasure, considering that the comparison of one’s own fortune against the misfortune of others was considered an acceptable philosophical practice by schools that did not necessarily share Epicureanism’s famously egocentric streak (cf. supra). Moreover, I think Arenson may be exaggerating the social function of pity. To make this claim, she leans heavily upon DRN 5.1019–1027. Here, Lucretius describes how primitive men began to form alliances with their neighbors in order to create a sense of security for themselves. Along the way, they also started to pity (misereri) the weak ones (notably women and children in Lucretius’ account). These would otherwise have been unable to benefit from this new arrangement, considering that it is for a strong and dangerous person quite useless to make a pact not to harm and not to be harmed with people who are in no position to do any harm anyway. Lucretius’ account of early man’s vicissitudes is a neat illustration of the typically Epicurean down-to-earth belief that laws and interpersonal relationships are mere conventions, which derive their sole value from their usefulness for the individuals who adhere to them. Yet, the enlightened Epicurean’s advanced rationality is far removed from primitive man’s first attempts to evolve beyond pure savagery. If we pay close attention to Lucretius’ words, we notice that the utility-based compact (i.e. a forerunner of friendship, as envisaged by the Epicureans) is the key mechanism that stops the violence and establishes a basic measure of safety. Pity, however, seems to be little more than a curious byproduct of this social evolution, designed to accommodate a marginalized group. Pity only plays a role in the decision to expand the compact so that it also encompasses the weak people who are dependent on the strong alpha males for whom the whole arrangement was intended. To put it bluntly: the alpha male brings his brutish strength and capacity for violence to the bargaining table, but the women and children are only spared because it makes the strong men feel good about themselves to compare their own superior position against the frailness of the former (see also the response by Stark (2019), who highlights the hierarchic structure of pity (141–145)). Pity, then, might rather be seen as an elegant solution to help make the covenant possible: we protect the weaker who are attached to those who are in turn protecting us, and, as an additional reward, we get to derive pleasure from the confirmation that we are better off than those for whom we feel pity. Of course, this weakness of women and children applies to the survivalist context of prehistoric times, in which physical strength trumps most other qualities. It should be noted that Philodemus explicitly rejects these outdated definitions of strength and weakness: women do not deserve pity for their lesser physical strength, because, in his view, mental health is the only valid criterion to estimate one’s

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awareness of his own privileged position, heightens his sense of happiness, and highlights once again how much of a difference the acceptance of Epicurean doctrine can make in a human life. 5.1.2.4.3 Against Some Objections It has, however, been argued that Lucretius’ Epicurean observer does not feel any pity for those whom he watches. Especially David Konstan, who has devoted an entire monograph to pity in the ancient world,85 argues to this effect.86 The reasoning behind his claim runs as follows: (1) the suffering of the observed people is not due to bad luck, but to their own base impulses (greed, lust for glory, political ambition, etc.); (2) pity is commonly defined as an emotion that is felt towards those who are undeserving of the evil that has befallen them;87 (3) the people who suffer have brought their suffering upon themselves and are, therefore, undeserving of pity; (4) as a result, the observing sage can derive pleasure from the contemplation of his own comparative happiness, but feels no pity whatsoever for those who suffer because of their own mistakes. In Konstan’s view, this explains why the wise Epicurean would happily watch someone else’s suffering, but not make an effort to step in and lend his fellow human being a much-needed hand. The Epicurean knows that the latter deserves his fate, which Konstan describes as ‘the penalty for immoderate desires’. In a similar vein, it has been claimed that the Lucretian observer feels pleasure in the deserved misfortune of others, rather than pity.88

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strength and prosperity (cf. supra). In the case of the enlightened Epicurean, however, only the hedonistic element would seem to remain. The Epicurean has no need to pity his peers, who are, after all, as happy as one can hope to be, and therefore not deserving of pity. The social cohesion between the sage and his friends is, as a result, not at all dependent on pity. The Epicurean’s pity towards the unenlightened, on the other hand, does not necessarily lead him to act in a more sociable way. If the sage is willing to help others rid themselves of their psychological ailments, it is, above all, because he is a kind human being, who wishes to make new friends to enhance his own security and pleasure, and who will develop sympathy towards his student/patient, that is: towards a person whom he has already accepted into his social circle. Pity, then, does not appear to have a decisive role in this process, other than that it heightens the Epicurean’s pleasurable awareness of his own blissful state, which makes it, of course, a worthwhile emotion for the pleasure-seeking Epicureans. Konstan (2001). Konstan (2008), 34–35, especially in n.22. Konstan (2001), 34–48. See, for example, Piergiacomi (2019), 142, n.75, who refers to the insightful discussion of Aristotelian ‘pleasure-on-others’-misfortune’ in Ben Ze’ev (2003), 115–118. This sort of claim is reminiscent of Bailey’s comment that the idea of a wise man who takes pleasure

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The problem with Konstan’s claim is that he overlooks the fact that the Epicureans measure the ‘deservedness’ of suffering differently from most other thinkers in the ancient world. As we have seen above, Philodemus considers merchants both wretched and pitiable, notwithstanding that their troubles are caused by their own missteps. They are not to be pitied because they die before their time, nor because they are plunged in all sorts of unpleasant situations, but precisely because they have the kind of diseased mental disposition which is wont to thwart their every chance of achieving happiness as long as their afflictions remain uncured. If we extrapolate Philodemus’ position on pity to the case of Lucretius’ observing sage, then, surely, this ataractic onlooker will also deem the shipwrecked sailors, injured soldiers, and blundering fools upon whom he gazes down deserving of pity. He certainly does not condone their way of life, nor does he find it surprising that their undertakings end in abject misery, pain, and for some even an early death. Yet, it is, in my view, safe to assume on the basis of the aforementioned parallel passage about the pitiable merchants, that he pities them for the faultiness of their mental disposition, knowing that every rational being may achieve wisdom, provided that their mental illness is cured in the correct way. Considering that the conventional interpretation of the criterion of deservedness does not apply to Epicurean pity, the claim that Lucretius’ observer would feel Schadenfreude becomes untenable. To make such a claim, one must, moreover, ignore the fact that Lucretius explicitly adds that the experienced pleasure is not motivated by the suffering of the other, but by the contemplation of one’s own happiness. According to DRN, the Epicurean sage does not think that someone else’s misfortune can ever be a source of pleasure in its own right. This accords, in fact, neatly with what we read in the fragmentary remains of Philodemus’ De invidia. In Philodemus’ view, malicious joy at other’s misfortune (ἐπιχαιρεκακία) is an undesirable emotion, closely associated with envy.89 Both emotions are unworthy of the Epicurean sage, who knows better than to measure happiness by any other standard than one’s moral health. The sage, then, does not envy others for their possessions or good fortune, nor does he gloat when others fall upon bad times. Based on the Philodemean evidence, there is no reason at all to question the truthfulness of Lucretius’ statement that his ataractic observer feels pleasure, but no ἐπιχαιρεκακία.90

in watching others’ suffering from afar, while doing nothing to help, is ‘an almost cynical picture’ (Bailey (1947), 797). 89 Phld., Inv. fr. 17. 90 See also Grilli (1957), 259–263 and Tepedino Guerra (1985), 117.

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Another objection against the thesis that Lucretius’ observer feels pity is raised by Fowler, who finds it hard to accept that the Epicurean sage, whose happiness is heavily dependent on his sense of ἀταραξία, would allow his mental tranquility to be disturbed by pity for the vicissitudes of a stranger. He also adds that pity for a dying man would be irrelevant from an Epicurean perspective, because death is not considered an evil.91 Fowler’s objection focuses on the painfulness of pity, but oversimplifies the Epicurean view on pain and pleasure. As we saw above, Epicurus himself held that not all pain is to be avoided, on the condition that the choice for a painful course of action will, eventually, yield enough pleasure to compensate the earlier unpleasantness. Pity and the pleasure one derives from the contemplation of one’s happiness compared to the unhappiness of non-Epicureans may very well be an example of such a calculus of pain and pleasure, in which the enjoyment of great pleasure justifies tolerating a small measure of pain.92 As regards Fowler’s comment that the Epicurean view on death makes the dying man undeserving of pity, we should keep Philodemus’ statements about in De morte in mind. The Epicurean sage does not pity the drowning merchant because he is dying, but rather because his entire life has been utterly miserable. Similarly, it is probably safe to say that, where his sense of pity is concerned, it is not relevant to the Lucretian observer whether or not the shipwrecked sailors will die. He pities them solely on the basis that their mental health is dreadful and that their resulting life choices are utterly wretched. 5.1.2.5 Epicurean Pity: Concluding Remarks Clearly, any reconstruction of the Epicureans’ conceptualization of pity is destined to be somewhat conjectural. The scantiness of the textual evidence and the fact that we have no passages which deal specifically with pity, makes it virtually impossible to define Epicurean pity as accurately as its Aristotelian counterpart. Be that as it may, the neglected Philodemean references to pitiable people in De morte offer us at least some valuable insights into Philodemus’ criteria for pitifulness. Yet, although Philodemus helps us understand whom the sage will pity, he does not offer us any clues about the role of pity within an Epicurean ethical framework. For that purpose, we have to turn to his rough contemporary, Lucretius. His description of the ataractic observer does not explicitly mention pity, but has the merit that it tells us what an Epicurean sage 91 Fowler (2002), 40. 92 Consider, for example, surgery, which is in itself hardly pleasurable (and must have been extremely unpleasant in ancient times), but which re-enables us to experience the greater pleasure of having a healthy body: cf. Diog. Oen. fr. 33.6.4–11.

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has to gain from gazing down upon the morally inferior. Thanks to Philodemus, we know that this type of people is deserving of the sage’s pity. Looking back to Aristotle’s criteria for pity, we notice that the Epicurean version both follows and innovates these key elements. First of all, pity is considered a painful emotion at the sight of destructive or painful harm, which might also affect, or has already affected oneself or those whom one holds dear.93 As we have seen, the Epicurean sage can easily take this brief sense of moderate painfulness in his stride, knowing that his contemplation of the pitiful other will heighten his appreciation of his own happiness, thus providing him with great pleasure. The sage does not define pitifulness in terms of bad fortune or physical weakness, but judges it solely by the state of one’s mental disposition. Any harm that accrues from having a diseased διάθεσις can, indeed, be considered both painful and destructive, because it prevents people from achieving the ultimate goal of a pleasant life, thus destroying the only life they have got. Epicurean salvation and the correct and systematic use of sober reasoning are the only things that stand between a person’ happiness and a wasted life of abject misery. With the right therapy and guidance, anyone can, potentially, achieve happiness. Yet, this also means that every blissful wise person might as well have ended up as a miserable wretch, if he had not met the right people or read the right books. Some people may have an initial atomic setup which makes them more or less likely to achieve wisdom,94 but, essentially, every mental disposition is a pliable construction, which can always be changed for better or for worse as long as true wisdom has not been fully achieved. As a result, the misery of the unenlightened fool is not completely alien to the sage, who understands the properties of the human mental disposition, and who knows, therefore, that it might as easily have befallen himself or his friends and family members. Of course, the sage no longer has to fear that the fool’s misfortune happen to himself. He may have been vulnerable to it once, when he had not yet achieved sagehood, but now that he has, his wisdom serves as an unfaltering bulwark against unhappiness.95 As a result, he is very unlikely to feel 93

Even if the sage no longer needs to fear the misery that flows forth from a diseased mental disposition, he was, in all likelihood, not born as a sage. As a result, he too will have made foolish errors in those early years when he had not yet mastered Epicurean wisdom (cf. Lib. dic. fr. 9.6–9). Moreover, some of his friends and relatives might still be vulnerable to foolish missteps and the ensuing wretchedness. The fact that the self-destructive foolishness of imperfect friends will cause the sage to experience a strong emotional response is demonstrated in Ira 41.17–26. See also section 6.1.5 for a discussion of this passage. 94 Cf. Plut., Non posse 1100AB. 95 D.L. 10.117.

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pity on account of the possibility that the observed suffering might come to his own door someday. His friends and family members, however, do not necessarily have this kind of philosophical protection against future harm. The sage is always making new friends and teaching them to attain his own level of ataractic bliss. Until their training is complete, they remain prone to relapses and missteps which might give them a taste of the utter fool’s continuous suffering. The sage, then, is sufficiently familiar with the observed suffering to know how easily it can affect the imperfect and knows that some of his more foolhardy friends might yet come to experience it when he is not there to keep them from making unwise decisions. Diogenes of Oenoanda’s account of the shipwrecked Epicurean Niceratus provides a perfect illustration of this principle, since it shows that even those who are supposed to have acquired a certain level of wisdom can sometimes act rashly.96 In Niceratus’ case this sort of rashness led his friends to send him on a sea voyage over a stormy sea, where he fell victim to shipwreck and suffered hardships which could not at all be justified by the urgency of his errand. In this case, then, the Epicurean Diogenes perceived the suffering of a seafaring fool after the example of Lucretius’ observer, but with the important difference that, this time, the seafaring fool was Diogenes’ own friend.97 As for deservedness, the Epicurean sage knows that misery results from mental illness. There is no divine judgment or immanent justice in an Epicurean universe, in which all things happen on account of chance movements of atoms. Wrongdoers and wicked people in general, then, are, essentially, patients in dire need of treatment, and, by definition, no patient deserves to be ill. It would seem, then, that, when it comes to the issue of pity, deservedness is not a relevant criterion for the Epicurean sage. Fortunately for the Epicurean sage, his wisdom allows him to apply sober reasoning to all his choices and avoidances, enabling him to live a happy life. Being a thoroughly rational being, he knows very well that this sets him apart from the fools upon whom he looks down, and whom he regards with pity and a sense of pleasure at his own comparative happiness. Although he understands that the mere arrangement of certain elusive atoms of his soul is the only real difference between himself and the pitiable fools, he also knows that he is very lucky to have achieved the only correct atomic makeup and that nothing will ever again be able to make him lose his ataractic state.98 This is 96 fr. 71+NF 214+fr. 72+fr. 70. See Hammerstaedt – Smith (2018), for the most recent edition of this text. See also Nijs (2023). 97 Cf. Nijs (2023). 98 D.L. 10.117.

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what provides him with the necessary sense of distance between himself and the fools around him, and which allows him to fully appreciate how happy he is, compared to the greedy merchant who risks his life at sea or the criminal who spends his entire life looking over his shoulder for signs of pursuit. 5.1.3 The Sage’s Downward Gaze: Conclusion It would seem that the Epicurean sage’s downward gaze is a complex phenomenon, consisting in a combination of attitudes and emotions. As we have first argued, the sage possesses the virtue of μεγαλοψυχία. Contrary to the Aristotelian conception of this virtue, the great-souled Epicurean needs not be a grand aristocrat in order to look down upon others. Instead, his greatness of soul consists entirely in the correct appraisal of the things which are choiceworthy, as opposed to those which are not. Because of this ability to make an accurate assessment of that which is beneath him, the sage is also able to evaluate the character of other people in terms of their beliefs and the resulting choices and avoidances. Disdain for what is at odds with the ultimate goal of the happy life and, as such, beneath himself, is the attitude which the sage appropriately derives from the virtue of magnanimity. The sage’s disdain, then, is a fundamentally rational attitude. In other words, correct καταφρόνησις results directly from correct φρόνησις. While the latter applies to every rational assessment of things in light of the eudaimonistic goal, the former involves the application of this rational approach to the things which are unworthy of that goal, and to the people whose actions are motivated by the unhealthy desire for such things. The sage’s disdain, then, is rational, rather than emotional. It does not involve disparagement or disgust at those who fail to meet the sage’s own moral standards, nor does it in any way disturb his own mental tranquility. Being a purely rational attitude, it does not prevent the sage from being kind and welcoming towards those whom he disdains on account of their false beliefs. The Epicurean sage is, after all, a philanthropist and friend-maker, who is always eager to help and befriend people who genuinely wish to enjoy his assistance and companionship. However, this does not mean that the sage’s downward gaze has not got a more emotional dimension as well. Because he is always eager to pursue sources of non-harmful pleasure, he readily embraces the common philosophical practice to heighten the pleasant awareness of one’s own fortune through the observation of the less fortunate. In doing so, the sage also experiences an emotion. This emotion, however, is no Schadenfreude, which would be closely related to envy and completely unworthy of the sage. Instead, he feels pity. Yet, he knows better than to pity people for the wrong reasons. Considering that the sage’s observation of those who are inferior to himself is characterized by an

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attitude of correct, rational καταφρόνησις, his pity is also based upon the premise that only those who act upon false beliefs and live unhappily as a result, truly deserve to be pitied. When the sage compares his own happiness with that of the unenlightened who are unable and unwilling to make the correct life choices, he may feel some small connection between them. The knowledge that the only significant difference between these hapless people and himself consists in the – still changeable – arrangement of their minds’ atoms, imbues him with a renewed sense of happiness and gratitude for Epicurus’ lifesaving philosophy. All things considered, then, the Epicurean sage’s downward gaze seems to follow many of the outlines of the better-attested Aristotelian definitions of its components, but subtly, yet significantly reinterprets the criteria by which they are applied. For the sage, only the happy life counts, and people are evaluated on the basis of one simple question: ‘Do the actions and beliefs of this person contribute to the achievement of the happy life?’. The Epicurean evaluation of the greedy merchant out at sea and the criminal on trial, then, would entail a negative answer to this question. As a result, the sage gazes down upon their wretchedness and, in the case of the foolish, yet harmless merchant, he feels pity. At the same time, he reflects with great pleasure and thankfulness upon the Epicurean doctrine which has saved him from the treacherous quagmire of foolishness and delivered him into the safe haven of true wisdom. 5.2

The Sage’s Defense against His Enemies

5.2.1 Introduction If the world in which Philodemus and his Epicurean predecessors and contemporaries lived had been entirely populated with Epicurean sages,99 then they might never even have felt the urge to contemplate how the sage should deal with people who mean him harm. Unfortunately for the ancient Epicureans, such an ideal world existed only in their pleasurable musings, but not in their daily life. Although any Epicurean sage worth his salt knows better than to provoke people into enmity and tries to remain under the radar at all times, the world is filled with misguided people who suffer from all sorts of vices and who might, as a result, get the wrongheaded idea that it would somehow be appropriate or lucrative for them to harm the Epicurean sage. Timocrates’ betrayal of the Epicurean school and his attempts to destroy its reputation is, no doubt, 99

Diogenes of Oenanda’s fr. 56 is, of course, the locus classicus for the idea of an ideal Epicurean society. See also Barigazzi (1978); Smith (1993), 140–141; 504; Roskam (2007a), 134–135; Morel (2017); Nijs (2019).

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the most famous example of a situation in which wise Epicureans find themselves against their will in a pitched battle with an unrelenting enemy.100 A similar thing happened to Philodemus himself, when Cicero slandered him in the presence of the entire Roman aristocracy, while aiming to humiliate the former’s friend and patronus Piso.101 If anything, these events, and especially Timocrates’ campaign, which damaged the Garden so gravely that it never fully recovered,102 must, early on, have instilled the first Epicureans and their successors with the need to reflect upon the ways in which a true ataractic sage may react to such attacks, in those cases when his undetected life and unassuming kindness have failed to keep him out of harm’s way.103 5.2.2 Natural Anger 5.2.2.1 The Sage’s Anger So, what does the sage do when he senses that someone seeks to harm him? If possible, he will, in all likelihood, try to avoid this person and, if necessary, seek out a safer environment.104 Yet, not every threat is serious enough to justify radical adjustments to one’s usual way of life. Although the sage is, by principle, a gentle soul, he will not be bullied if a rational calculus shows that standing one’s ground may yield better results than avoiding the conflict at a cost to his personal freedom. Instead, the sage will allow himself to get angry and take action against his assailants. The sage’s anger is a natural sort of anger, as opposed to the empty anger of fools.105 Philodemus admits that anger is a painful emotion and that even 100 Roskam (2007b), 43–49. 101 Cic., In Pis. 70–71. See section 7.1.1. 102 Diogenes Laertius’ account shows that Timocrates’ slanderous allegations were still eagerly remembered and copied several centuries later, fueling an enduring tradition of anti-Epicurean prejudice and cheap slander. Cf. Sedley (1976), 127–132; Roskam (2007b), 118. 103 Roskam (2007b), 47 already points out that the conflict with the renegade Timocrates may have caused the Garden to ‘close the ranks’, thus strengthening their commitment to a sequestered life among friends as a powerful bulwark against future attacks. 104 Consider Philodemus’ advice in Rh. (lib. incert.) 1.33–39 p. 259 Sudhaus that one should simply move away if a place does not allow one to live in a satisfactory way (ἢ μεταβαίνειν ἐκ τῶν τόπων, ἐὰν [μ]ὴ καλῶς ζ[ῆ]ν {οἴωνται}). Although the context of this passage is the issue of living in a country with unbearable laws, it is probably safe to assume that Philodemus’ advice applies to all situations in which it is better for one’s health to pack up and move to greener pastures. 105 Philodemus’ theory of natural anger has received a lot of scholarly attention. In his lengthy discussion of natural and empty anger, he addresses a wide variety of criticisms both from within and from without the Epicurean Garden. In the present chapter, however,

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the sage’s natural anger, which is neither intense, nor prolonged, causes one to momentarily feel anger’s painful ‘bite’.106 However, in line with Epicurus’ well-known classification of goods and evils, Philodemus reminds his readers that every single choice and avoidance should be evaluated through a rational calculus of benefits and disadvantages. Experiencing natural anger, then, may entail some pain, but can still be a valuable course of action in certain situations. We should, moreover, bear in mind that natural anger is limited, both in intensity and duration.107 If it were potentially boundless, or if its limits were unclear, no rational calculus would be able to sanction it. In order to make a correct balance of disadvantages and advantages, one, obviously, needs to have precise information about these factors. Otherwise, it would be impossible to assess whether or not an evil is greater or smaller than the good to which it might eventually lead. In the following passage, Philodemus explains how natural anger can sometimes be beneficial:108 ἡμεῖς δὲ τῶι καὶ κατὰ φωνήν τινα παραλογισμὸν ἐντρέχειν οὐχ ἁπλῆν ποιούμεθα τὴν ἀπόφασιν, ἀλλὰ τὸ μὲν πάθος αὐτὸ κατὰ διάληψιν ἀποφαινόμεθα κακόν, ἐπειδὴ λυπηρόν ἐστιν ἢ ἀνάλογον λυπηρῶι, κατὰ δὲ τὴν συνπλοκὴν τῆι διαθέσει κἂν ἀγαθὸν ῥηθήσεσθαι νομίζομεν· συνίσταται γὰρ ἀπὸ το[ῦ] βλέπειν ὡς ἡ φύσις ἔχει τῶν πραγμάτων καὶ μηδὲν ψευδοδοξεῖν ἐν ταῖς σ[υ]μμετρήσεσι τῶν ἐλα[ττ]ωμάτων καὶ ταῖς κολάσεσι τῶν βλαπτόντων.

I will focus exclusively on those elements which are relevant for the sage’s interaction with other people and situations. As a result, I will not try to offer a systematic account of Philodemean anger, nor a detailed analysis of Philodemus’ argumentative strategies in this section of De ira. These things can be found in many other insightful studies, such as, for example, Procopé (1998); Annas (1989); Tsouna (2007), 221–238; Asmis (2011); Armstrong  – McOsker (2020), 40–45; 72–80; Verde (2020a), 213–217; Spinelli  – Verde (2021). 106 Cf. Ira 37.18–20. 107 In Ira 40.2 Philodemus describes the sage’s natural anger as ἀκαριαῖον. Cf. Spinelli – Verde (2021), 327. In the final section of his treatise on anger, Philodemus launches into an elaborate refutation of some unnamed heterodox Epicureans (dubbed ‘Maximalists’ by Armstrong – McOsker (2020)), who claim that even the sage may feel intense anger (and even genuine rage) in response to serious intentional harm (44.35–50.8). There is no need to discuss this lengthy passage, which has already been analyzed in several excellent studies, into detail here (see e.g. Tsouna (2007), 230–238; Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 77–80; Spinelli – Verde (2021), 326–330). For the purpose of this chapter, it suffices to keep in mind that Philodemus makes it perfectly clear that his Epicurean sage will under no circumstance fall prey to intense or prolonged anger. 108 Ira 37.20–39; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), with modification.

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But because a kind of false reasoning occurs because of the word (sc. ὀργή), we do not make a simple judgment but show that the emotion itself, taken in isolation, is an evil, since it is painful or is analogous to something painful, but if taken in conjunction with one’s disposition, we think that it is something that may even be called good. For it (sc. natural anger) results from seeing what the nature of states of affairs is and from not having any false beliefs in our comparative calculations of our losses and in our punishments of those who harm us. Philodemus’ line of reasoning is, indeed, very much in line with Epicurus’ own account in the Epistula ad Menoeceum.109 A correct evaluation of all relevant factors is in order, then. The sage makes sure that he is not deceived by mere appearances, but takes great care to verify whether he is really being harmed intentionally by someone else in a significant way. If he is, he must also determine whether or not an angry response will do him any good. Getting angry at a mob of armed robbers when one is alone and unarmed is probably not going to discourage them from doing harm, but entails a very real danger of being killed. The sage understands this and will, in all likelihood, refrain from angry outbursts under such dire circumstances, in which it is, clearly, better for his health to give up his purse, so as not to provoke his assailants to violence. The irascible fool, on the other hand, fails to make this sort of rational assessment when he faces a hazardous situation, and may be inclined to hurl himself at the miscreants in a fit of mindless rage, determined to exact bloody revenge upon these insolent criminals. Although the sight of his heroic rage might for a moment be reminiscent of a charging Diomedes or a berserk Ajax, if his fighting skills and weaponry are not also on par with those of either Homeric hero, there is every chance that it will take only minutes before our irascible fool lies face down in the gutter, bleeding out through multiple stab wounds, while the robbers amble off with his money, shaking their heads in disbelief at their victim’s senseless bravado.110 109 Cf. Armstrong (2008), 89–90. 110 In Ira 33.1–7, Philodemus also seems to suggest that soldiers who fall victim to rage during battle perform worse than their more composed colleagues. They fail to be cautious when they lose their weapons and are unable to keep watch in a satisfactory fashion. The idea of soldiers who go berserk and rush into battle without caution and who might even try to fight armed adversaries with their bare hands, may have brought a smile to the faces of many a Roman aristocrat. Any Roman who spent part of his career as a junior officer in the military campaigns against savage barbarian warriors, would vividly remember how these wrathful foes were easily cut apart by the efficient formations of the disciplined Roman legions. It should be noted that Philodemus might have accompanied Piso to Gaul in 55 bc (cf. Bowersock (1965), 3). Although this hypothesis has been built upon

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Philodemus’ comment in the final lines of De ira is also relevant here:111 καθάπ[ε]ρ γὰρ χωρὶς τοῦ γράμματα μαθεῖν οὐχ οἷόν τ[ε] {μαθεῖν οὐχ οἷόν τε} γενέσθαι σοφόν, ἀλλ᾿ οὐκ, εἰ γράμματά τις ἔμαθεν, ἐποισθήσεται τὸ καὶ {τὸν} σοφὸν αὐτὸν ὑπάρχειν, οὕτως οὐδὲ τῶι προστησαμέν[ωι τὸ ὑ]πολήψεσιν τοῦ βεβλάφθαι τὴν ὀργὴν ἐπακολουθεῖν, ἄλλως δ᾿ ἀδυνατεῖν, τὸ [πά]ντως ὀ[ργ]ισθήσεσ[θ]αι τὸν ἔμφασιν εἰληφότα βλάβης, ἂμ μή τις ἐπιδείξηι κ[α]ὶ δραστικὸν αἴ[τι]ον ὀργῆς εἶναι τ[ὴ]ν ὑπόληψιν τ[ῆ]ς [βλ]άβης. For just as without learning one’s letters it is not possible to become a sage, but, if someone has learned his letters, it will not be considered that he is also a sage, so also (it does) not (follow) for him who has established that “anger follows upon suppositions of having been harmed, but is impossible otherwise”, that “he who has received an impression of being harmed will as a matter of course be angered, unless someone should demonstrate that the supposition of harm is indeed an efficient cause of anger. Obviously, it would be senseless to get angry if one does not get the impression (ὑπόληψις) that one is being harmed.112 Yet, neither will the sage always become angry whenever he has reason to believe that people are harming him intentionally. The supposition of intentional harm is a necessary condition for natural anger, but in itself not a sufficient one. Anger is, after all, painful in its own right. If the harm is only trivial, the pain of becoming angry might already be worse than the negligible evil to which it is meant to be a reaction. If, like in the previous example, armed robbers demand that the sage hand them the contents of his purse, he feels that anger is not necessary. The loss of some money is, after all, very unlikely to damage his happy way of life. As a result, it is not only the danger involved in resisting the criminals which keeps him from an overly literal reading of a passage in one of Philodemus’ epigrams (Epigr. 8.4 = A.P. 10.21; see Sider (1997), 11; 93–94), it would have been in line with common practice for a Greek cliens to accompany his patronus when the latter held political office in one of the provinces. Considering that Cichorius (1922), 295 and Fish (2016), 57–58 have argued that Philodemus probably followed Piso to Macedonia in 57, it is not unreasonable to assume that he might also have been to Gaul two years earlier. See also Fish (2018), 154–155 for the Macedonian context of Philodemus’ De bono rege. 111 Ira 49.33–50.8; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020). See also Tsouna (2007), 237; Sanders (2009) and Asmis (2011), who discusses the these final lines of De ira at length, and who subdivides natural anger into necessary and unnecessary anger, in analogy to Epicurus’ famous categorization of pleasures and desires. 112 For a discussion of the term ὑπόληψις, see Indelli (1988), 249.

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acting angrily. In some cases, the relative unimportance of the intentional harm that befalls him may even keep him from getting angry in the first place. If a thief steals something absolutely worthless about which people do not care, they are still the victim of theft, an intentional sort of harm, but they will hardly be inclined to get angry about it. Similarly, then, if you see an angry sage, you can be sure that he has been harmed intentionally, but not every instance of intentional harm will necessarily produce an angry sage.113 Philodemus’ final comment clearly highlights the well-known fact that Epicurean ethics entail a qualifying approach. In the same way in which actions are choiceworthy or not depending on the various circumstances which serve as parameters for the Epicurean’s rational calculus, an emotion like anger will or will not be experienced in a given situation, depending on the mental disposition of the subject and his or her individual assessment of the severity of the harm.114 The crucial point in Philodemus’ theory of anger is that anger is an evil if it sprouts from the faulty assessment of someone who has a flawed mental disposition, but that it can even be a good if it is the result of the sage’s correct rational calculus. In fact, Philodemus goes even further, claiming that it is even an evil not to embrace natural anger, which is, after all, the legitimate result of true sober reasoning.115 5.2.2.2 Bites and the Painfulness of Natural Anger Although the Epicurean sage is, no doubt, very much in control of his emotions and rational capacities, compared to ordinary people, it seems unlikely that he might be able to shut out all emotions until he has finished computing the pros and cons of experiencing a particular emotion. Instead, the sage feels a bite of anger whenever he perceives some sort of harm, but keeps it under control until he has convinced himself that it is appropriate and useful to experience anger. Philodemus argues against another Epicurean, Nicasicrates, who, apparently, claimed that even the sage is harmed to a certain extent by his own, unavoidable pangs of anger. Nicasicrates’ line of reasoning seems to be that natural anger affects everyone and will sometimes hamper sober reasoning, friendly conviviality, and ἀταραξία.116 While Philodemus defines natural 113 In De Epicuro PHerc. 1289β.26, Philodemus describes, for example, how the reputation of Epicurus and his school were intentionally harmed by malicious slander. Considering, however, that this did not inflict any physical pain, Epicurus deemed an angry reaction unnecessary, choosing to defend himself and his school with philosophical arguments instead. 114 Cf. Tsouna (2007), 237. 115 Ira 38.18–27. 116 Ira 38.34–39.7.

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anger as anger which has been sanctioned by a rational process, and which is therefore natural for the wise person, Nicasicrates seems to use the term in a slightly different way.117 It would seem that, to his mind, natural anger is the anger which unavoidably affects everyone, including the sage, and which is not called natural because it accords with the sage’s nature as a sage, but rather because it is part and parcel of human nature, from which even the perfect sage cannot completely escape. Philodemus dispatches Nicasicrates’ objections without visible effort, accusing the latter of a failure to distinguish between natural and empty anger. Ignoring the fact that Nicasicrates may define the term natural anger in a different way, Philodemus proceeds to argue why his own terminological dichotomy solves all problems, whereas Nicasicrates runs aground in a quagmire of semantic inconsistency. If something is an evil, so he says, then it can, surely, not be called natural.118 If there is a type of anger which merits the appellation ‘natural’, then this necessarily means that at least one type of anger can be experienced by the sage without being harmful in any significant way. As a result, no-one, least of all the Stoics, who are all too eager to adopt such criticisms, should point to the proven outbursts of anger of Epicurean wise men in an attempt to cast doubt upon their sagehood.119 If these wise Epicureans from the Garden’s first days felt anger, which they most surely did at certain times, then theirs was a natural, and by definition harmless type of anger, which was neither prolonged, nor intense, and which did not at all jeopardize their supreme ataractic state. As I pointed out above, it is very unlikely that the sage’s rational calculus is completely instantaneous. Even the sage is, in all likelihood, unable to reach a decision on the desirability of anger before the emotion itself arises. The sage might be highly trained in such matters and might be able to calculate the proper course of action in mere seconds, but it is very doubtful that his reasoning would be able to outrun the emotion. Sense perceptions and emotions 117 See Tsouna (2007), 224, n. 93 for further evidence that the Epicureans were aware if the potential ambiguities of the term ‘by nature’ (φύσει) and that Demetrius Lacon, in particular, found this matter important enough to theorize about in his writings. See also Procopé (1998), 179–181. 118 Lesser evils might sometimes be choiceworthy if there is a guarantee that they will lead to a greater good, but even so it is still an evil and, therefore, in itself not natural. In such situations, our human rationality enables us to choose an ‘unnatural’ thing in spite of our innate reflex to avoid pain: ordinarily, people will not be naturally inclined to have someone else cut them with a sharp knife. Yet, our rational capacities help us understand that the unnatural concept of undergoing surgery is the only way to regain the natural good of being healthy. 119 We should bear in mind that even Epicurus, the Epicurean sage par excellence, seems to have been known to get angry at his students (Ira 35.2–5): see chapter seven.

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are, after all, criteria of truth.120 The former enter our mind and the latter are produced by our mental disposition in response to the former, and as soon as they arise, they are to be considered entirely true in their own right. Our rationality, then, needs to get busy verifying to what extent sense perceptions conform to the objects they represent and assessing whether or not an emotion is appropriate, but, clearly, this process can only start when our rational capacities have received the necessary input. Nicasicrates’ natural anger, then, entails all types of anger which arise spontaneously in all human beings. In that case, it includes anger at situations which are immediately afterwards identified by our reasoning as deserving of an angry response, defined by Philodemus as proper natural anger. Yet, it might also include initial pangs of anger at situations which are subsequently assessed as undeserving of anger. Later on, Philodemus touches upon the issue of the sage’s irritation in response to situations in which he makes an error of judgment.121 Yet, even then, the sage’s response accords with a rational calculus which is methodically correct, except for the fact that some of data serving as input were flawed. Nicasicrates’ arguments, on the other hand, would seem to envisage brief outbursts of anger which precede the rational process. Based on his rational calculus, the sage might quickly decide that anger is not needed and suppress all such feelings. Yet, even if the sage does not act upon his anger and dismisses it upon the conclusion of his calculus, Nicasicrates would still be right to point out that the sage briefly experienced a painful bite of anger in response to a situation in which anger was, considered from an exclusively rational point of view, completely uncalled for.122 Philodemus’ solution to this problem is to distinguish between the bite of anger itself and its consequences.123 Even a good disposition may sometimes give rise to a bite of anger, even when the subsequent evaluation of all relevant factors will show that anger is, in fact, not really necessary. Yet, as far as Philodemus is concerned, this slight bite of anger is still too insignificant to have any real impact upon the sage’s happiness and reasoning. Someone who has a diseased disposition, by contrast, will not subject his angry impulse to rational examination, but will instead act upon it and allow this 120 D.L. 10.31. 121 Ira 35.17–28. See section 7.1.2. 122 This is probably also why Nicasicrates can claim that these bites of natural anger might interfere with one’s reasoning. If anger would come after reasoning, this would be impossible. Yet, if the angry emotion is already in place when the assessment of its appropriateness and usefulness starts, then Nicasicrates has a decent starting point to explore the hypothesis that it might, at least in some instances, influence the ensuing rational process. 123 Cf. Tsouna (2007), 224.

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small anger to grow into harmful rage.124 Both he and Nicasicrates agree that no human can completely escape anger.125 In fact, it would be a great evil if one were to be completely bereft of the capacity to become angry, so Philodemus points out. Anger can, after all, have its uses in certain situations. The person who never gets angry at all, then, will often find himself at a serious disadvantage, because of his inability to respond in a decisive way to an undesirable situation. When faced with the choice between never getting angry at all, or experiencing brief bites of anger in certain situations, the sage, who is, after all, able to prevent his anger from spinning out of control, will choose the second option. These bites of anger are to be kept within bounds and are only further pursued if doing so is in accordance with the outcome of a proper rational calculus. If so, even an unavoidable angry bite at a situation which does not really need an angry response can be called natural, in the sense that it arises as part and parcel of our human nature, as well as harmless, because the sage does not act upon it. The slight disturbance that it entails is, in Philodemus’ view, not significant enough to damage the wise person’s ataractic state in any way, nor does it outweigh the benefit that one may derive from anger in other situations, in which an angry response is called for. 5.2.2.3 Effectiveness An important factor in Philodemus’ view on the sage’s natural anger is the concern for its effectiveness in a given situation. Anger is an emotion, and as such, one would be inclined to think that it arises more or less on its own accord in response to certain situations. Philodemus’ account, however, seems to suggest that this only happens to a certain extent in the sage’s case. Upon experiencing an initial bite of anger, the sage will first evaluate his situation and explore to what extent anger might have a positive effect on it, before he decides whether he is going to suppress or to embrace the emotion. Natural anger is described in the following terms:126 συνίσταται γὰρ ἀπὸ το[ῦ] βλέπειν ὡς ἡ φύσις ἔχει τῶν πραγμάτων καὶ μηδὲν ψευδοδοξεῖν ἐν ταῖς σ[υ]μμετρήσεσι τῶν ἐλα[ττ]ωμάτων καὶ ταῖς κολάσεσι τῶν βλαπτόντων.

124 Ira 40.6–10. 125 Ira 40.2–6; 15–22. In this respect, the sage does not differ from the average human being in general, as Philodemus explicitly acknowledges (Ira 40.27–32). 126 Ira 37.32–39; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020).

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For it (anger) results from seeing what the nature of states of affairs is and from not having any false beliefs in our comparative calculations of our losses and in our punishments of those who harm us. True natural anger, then, entails a rational appraisal of all relevant factors. Considering that Philodemus says that (1) bites of natural anger are inescapable and arise on their own accord, and that (2) real natural anger needs to be based on a συμμέτρησις of possible reactions and their costs,127 it is necessary to distinguish between the first bite of anger and the further experience of natural anger in terms of a purely instinctive and a rationally motivated phase. In other words, the sage poses himself two questions whenever he gets the feeling that he is being harmed by someone: (1) ‘Am I really being harmed in a significant and deliberate way by this person?’, and (2) ‘Will this harm go away if I allow myself to get truly angry and act upon it?’ This means that the sage will only follow up on his natural impulse towards anger in response to a threat if there is solid reason to believe that an angry reaction will remove that threat. If someone harms the sage purely by accident, the sage may feel an initial bite of anger, which he will then evaluate against all known parameters pertaining to the situation at hand. In this case, the sage’s reasoning will soon show him that anger would not be the best response. Instead, the sage might walk up to the unintentional wrongdoer, kindly inform him how his actions have an unwanted effect, and ask him to stop acting in this way. If the other is a reasonable person, he or she will, in all likelihood, apologize and stop whatever it was they were doing. Perhaps the sage might have accomplished the same result if he had not taken the time to ascertain whether or not the harm was intentional. If he had simply walked up to the other and started to shout abuse, that person might have been frightened enough not to repeat their mistake. This is, however, hardly a preferable option: it would require the sage to allow an insignificant bite of mildly painful anger to blossom up into the greater pain of real anger. In sum, he would have subjected himself needlessly to greater pain in order to achieve one and the same result. Moreover, if the other person did not harm the sage intentionally, the latter’s abusive behavior might be 127 The term συμμέτρησις is used by Epicurus himself to indicate the rational calculus which needs to take place in order to assess all things in terms of choices and avoidances (Ep. Men. 130: τῇ μέντοι συμμετρήσει καὶ συμφερόντων καὶ ἀσυμφόρων βλέψει ταῦτα πάντα κρίνειν καθήκει; text by Dorandi (2013)). The fact that Philodemus’ comments on natural anger refer directly to the Epicurean rational calculus implies that this stadium of the sage’s anger does not take place on a subconscious or instinctive level. Instead, it hinges upon a deliberate thought process and is, therefore, different from the prerational emotion of the ‘bite’ which is its precursor.

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enough reason for the former to develop an unhealthy willingness to visit some intentional harm upon the uncouth sage in the future. Anger which does not contribute directly to the goal of restoring one’s safety or that of one’s friends, then, is not natural, and therefore unworthy of the ataractic sage. 5.2.2.4 Alienation and Hatred Anger is, however, not the only relevant emotion here. In a passage in which Philodemus responds to the misguided objection that, surely, the sage will experience intense anger and an intense desire for revenge if someone hurts him deeply,128 he also offers some important clues with regard to the sage’s feelings towards people who bear him ill will and seek to harm him:129 πρὸς ὅν ἐροῦμεν, ὅτι τῶι βλάπτοντι τὰς τοιαύτας [β]λά[β]ας ἢ φανερῶι [γ᾿ ὄν]τι διότι μ[ε]γά[λ]ως βλάψει, προσαλλοτριοῦται μὲν ἄκρως καὶ μισεῖ (τοῦτο γὰρ ἀκ[όλο]υθον), οὐ μέντοι γε ταρα[χ]ὴν ἀνα[δ]έχεται μεγάλη[ν], οὐ[δ᾿] ἔ[στ]ιν γέ [πὡς] τ[ι] παρὰ [μέγα] τῶν ἔξωθεν, [ὅ]τ᾿ οὐδὲ κ[α]τὰ τὰς παρουσία[ς] τῶν μεγάλων ἀλγηδόνω[ν] μεγάλαις συνέχεται τ[αρα]χαῖς, [πο]λλῶι δὲ μᾶλλ[ο]ν κατὰ [τὰ]ς ὀργάς. We will reply to him that, toward the person who harms him in these ways or is obviously going to harm him greatly, he (sc. the sage) is alienated in the highest degree and hates him – that is consistent – but nonetheless he does not experience great disturbance in any way, nor is any external thing all that important, seeing that he is not liable to great disturbances even through the presence of great pains, and much less through his fits of angers. Apart from feeling natural anger, the sage’s emotional reaction towards someone who deliberately tries to harm him seems to be twofold: he experiences alienation (προσαλλοτριοῦται) and hatred (μισεῖ) towards that person. The first term is strongly reminiscent of the in Epicurean texts well-attested pair οἰκεῖος and ἀλλότριος.130 The former refers to things which accord with our (physical and mental) atomic constitution, while the latter denotes the opposite: things which are alien to it. In an ethical context and with regard to the perfect Epicurean sage, this means that things such as bodily pleasure, tranquility, and amiable conviviality, which contribute to the eudemonistic 128 The sage’s revenge will be discussed further on in this chapter. 129 Ira 41.39–42.12; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020). 130 Cf. Gigante (1975), 59, n. 129; Obbink (1996), 473; Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 74–75.

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ideal, are οἰκεῖα, whereas mental and bodily pains and the things which cause them are manifestly ἀλλότρια. When talking about the Epicurean sage, then, ἀλλότριος generally has the connotation of ‘painful’. In this particular passage, Philodemus uses the verb προσαλλοτριοῦσθαι, otherwise only attested in a Democritean citation by Sextus Empiricus,131 to refer to the sage’s alienation towards the sort of person who deliberately causes him pain. The word ἀλλότριος is, no doubt, a fitting term to characterize the type of person who would feel inclined to hurt the Epicurean sage, who is, after all, a kind soul, who wishes nothing more than to lead his unassuming life among like-minded friends. The mental disposition of such a person is, obviously, the complete opposite of the sage’s. As such, the offender’s entire personality and all questionable actions which flow from it can rightly be described as completely alien to the sage. Moreover, such a person is a bringer of pain and is as such, of course, to be consistently avoided. This is basically in line with Democritus’ position. In Democritus’ saying, the verb προσαλλοτριοῦμαι is used in the context of choices and avoidances, a topic with which, of course, an Epicurean like Philodemus has great affinity. Things to which we feel alienated (τοῦτο ᾧ προσαλλοτριούμεθα), so Democritus argues, are to be avoided (φευκτόν ἐστιν). Philodemus endorses the same view: whoever harms the sage on purpose is irrevocably placed into the category of things which are to be avoided. The sage may be a philanthropist and an enthusiastic friend-maker, but as soon as someone deliberately tries to do him great harm, that person is put on the sage’s black list.132 In addition to his sense of alienation – or rather as a result of it (τοῦτο γὰρ ἀκόλουθον) – the sage is said to hate his adversary, but, so Philodemus assures his reader, not in a way that might cause him to be greatly disturbed by it. Little attention has been given to this instance of hatred, which is generally overlooked as a mere byproduct of the sage’s angry response to great intentional harm. Where mere slights might cause the sage to be mildly annoyed, considerable harm provokes anger, and truly great harm will lead to (alienation and) hatred. Philodemus seems to reply to those who ask how the sage is going to respond to great harm. His view thus seems to accord with the argumentative context of the passage from De ira. Yet, it should be noted that in ancient Greek thought, anger and hatred are not considered to be one and the same

131 Sext. Emp., M. 7.140 = Democr. Fr. 111. 132 Cf. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 289, n. 199: ‘In Epicurean terms, his being “alienated” means he expects only pain from further relations with the offender …’

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thing, even though they are undoubtedly akin to each other.133 Aristotle’s clear distinction between the two passions in Rhet. 1382a1–14 helps shed light on this matter.134 He claims that anger concerns an occurrence of harm to ourselves by the hands of a specific person. We get angry at individual people on account of very concrete actions. Hatred, on the other hand, has to do with general characteristics of people. One can hate certain types of people, like, for example, thieves or traitors, not because one has a specific thief in mind and not even because one has been robbed at some stage. According to Aristotle’s definition, hatred pertains to the abstract, rather than to the specific. Of course, if one hates thieves, one will also feel hatred towards individuals who are thieves. Interestingly, Aristotle claims that experiencing anger entails pain, whereas hatred does not. Moreover, anger is said to dissipate when time passes, while hatred endures. If someone tries to steal from a person with a healthy mental disposition (excluding irascible fools who allow themselves to be consumed by their ineffective anger), that person will not stay angry indefinitely. Hatred, on the other hand, which is not merely felt towards ‘the thief who stole from me’, but towards ‘thieves’ in general, will not cease to be. It would, after all, be illogical if one would cease to dislike thieves, murderers, and rapists if a sufficient amount of time passes without encountering individuals who belong to one of these groups of miscreants. Yet, to ‘hate’ thieves in this sense does not necessarily entail that one will spend every single day of one’s life thinking about thieves and imagining new ways to hurt them, or at least, that is not how people usually deal with their continuous ‘hatred’ for criminals. If we return to the Epicurean sage’s ‘hatred’ and view it in light of Aristotle’s claims, the sage’s hatred in response does not appear to be a more advanced stage of anger, but rather a supplementary emotion with a subtly different function. Like the process of alienation, the sage’s hatred is connected to a cognitive categorization of people. The sage feels anger towards the individual who does him great harm, but at the same time he categorizes this person as ‘a bringer of pain whom he should try to avoid’. His sense perceptions of this person’s characteristics and the painful emotions that he feels as a consequence of the other’s deeds, all contribute to the sage’s preconception of ὁ ἀλλότριος. As such, it is only natural that the sage will feel an enduring, yet non-disturbing hatred for the type of person who is so utterly alien to his own blissful character and from whom he can only expect more pain. Unfortunately, extant Epicurean 133 See also Procopé (1985) for a detailed survey of the various attestations of hatred in antiquity. 134 See also Konstan (2006), 185–200 for an insightful discussion of Aristotle’s view on hatred and the emotion’s place within ancient thought.

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texts offer us no further evidence on the Epicurean view on hatred. Be that as it may, there is good reason to believe that the Epicurean sage’s hatred is not merely an aspect of anger, but a different emotion altogether. Of course, Aristotle’s, and probably also Philodemus’, concept of hatred seems to be somewhat different from ours.135 Whilst we would be inclined to consider hatred as an intense emotion, the ancients seem to have viewed it as an emotion which actually has a much lighter impact on one’s mental tranquility than anger. In that sense, it would perhaps be more accurate to interpret μισεῖν as ‘feeling strong dislike’ or something of that sort, which would be complementary with the feeling of alienation: the sage feels a clear distance between himself and his wrongdoer, while he also feels that the character of the other is not only alien to his own, but even hostile to it. This causes him to steer clear from that type of person in general and from the individual wrongdoer in particular.136 Considering that the sage is, as the structure of Philodemus apologetic passages so often emphasizes, the complete antithesis of the vicious person, we can perhaps say that he ‘hates’ his vicious opponent in more or less the same way in which one might say that water ‘hates’ fire and that certain animals instinctively ‘hate’ their natural enemies.137 In light of the fact that this ‘hatred’ does not have a significant emotional impact, the pair alienation-hatred does not seem to entail emotions that the sage feels very actively towards someone or something, but rather an almost passive state of diametrical opposition, and the sage’s mental acknowledgement thereof. The sage’s alienation and dislike towards his assailant seem to lead to an enduring attitude, rather than to develop into painful emotions which might create a disturbance if they were to last for too long. Their function is to 135 The Cambridge English Dictionary defines hatred as ‘an extremely strong feeling of dislike’. The Oxford English Dictionary is even more outspoken: ‘A feeling of intense dislike or aversion towards a person or a thing; an emotion in which such a feeling is experienced; loathing; hostility; malevolence’. 136 Perhaps the sage’s ‘hatred’ primarily pops up whenever he perceives the proximity of the person who once harmed him and whom he categorized as someone who is to be avoided. This ‘hatred’, then, could serve as some sort of proximity alarm, which immediately ceases to manifest itself as soon as the sage becomes aware of the danger and distances himself from it. Because of the brevity of this emotional response, it would not do any more damage to the sage’s ataractic disposition than the relatively harmless bites of natural anger of which Philodemus treats in more detail. 137 Cf. Plut., De inv. et od. 537BC, where ample examples are given of animals which are each other’s radical opposites and, as such, imbued with a natural hatred towards each other to such an extent that their inability to be reconciled endures even after their deaths. ‘Proof’ hereof is that, apparently, the blood of some of these species cannot be mixed when they have been killed, withstanding any attempt to mingle the two fluids.

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permanently categorize the wrongdoer as an undesirable bringer of pain, diametrically opposed to the sage’s ideal mental disposition and a direct threat to his happiness. The sage’s natural anger lasts only for a brief amount of time. As soon as his harm-free existence has been restored, the anger disappears immediately, leaving no trace upon the sage’s perfectly balanced mental disposition. His assessment of the other person on the basis of alienation and dislike, on the other hand, endures, as a permanent reminder that he should avoid this person who once harmed him, lest his newly regained happiness be threatened once again.138 5.2.3 Punishment and Revenge For the sage to act upon his impulse towards natural anger and to take action against his assailants, then, a number of conditions have to be met: (1) The sage has to feel a natural, and therefore unavoidable pang of anger in response to an instance of (imminent) external harm.139 Next, the sage has to establish that: (2) Someone has intentionally harmed him or is going to do so. (3) Upon rational appraisal of all relevant factors, the pain inflicted to himself will clearly outweigh the painful sensation involved in acting upon his anger.

138 In light of the Epicureans’ concern with the unnoticed life and the avoidance of everything that might jeopardize their happy life, the sage is, in all likelihood, more than happy to steer well clear of harmful person whom he strongly dislikes. In that sense, the Epicurean view on μῖσος appears to be unconventional. Other philosophical schools hold the view that the person who hates has the enduring intention to hurt the object of his hatred and will eagerly do so whenever a suited opportunity presents itself: cf. Plut., De inv. et od. 538E; Arist., Rhet. 1382a31; D.L. 7.113 (= SVF 3.396). 139 This initial pang of anger happens on a prerational level. It is a simple and undiluted πάθος which causes the sage a sense of pain. As such, it is a criterion of truth (D.L. 10.31) and can, among numerous other factors, be used as valuable input for the ensuing rational assessment of the situation, which will, eventually, lead to a decision regarding the correct course of action to follow. Verde (2018) points out that not all πάθη are a direct criterion for the rational calculus. He argues that only the basic πάθη of pain and pleasure, which are directly linked to our senses, can serve as a direct criterion, whereas emotional states, like the πάθος of anger, are only indirect criteria. Anger serves as a reliable input for the rational calculus in the sense that it is painful, which means that it can be traced back to the fundamental πάθος of pain, crucial to determine whether or not certain things are to be avoided. See above all Verde (2018b), 213–214 and 223, n. 57 on this.

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(4) Embracing his anger to take steps against the wrongdoers will effectively stop them from inflicting further harm. If all of the above conditions are fully met, the sage will indeed act upon his anger. He can safely do so because he knows that the fourth and last condition has been fulfilled: his angry reaction will remove the threat. As soon as that happens, there will no longer be any intentional harm, nor the prospect of future intentional harm, which means that there is no more reason to experience anger. Without this guarantee that the feelings of anger and the resulting actions will effectively remove the reason for their own existence, the angry reaction would have no clear limit, which means that the resulting pain would lack a distinct temporal boundary, other than the subject’s eventual death. Of course, the Epicurean sage would never willingly submit himself to any kind of pain if he does not have clear information on its duration and intensity. Revenge or punishment generally need to serve one goal only: the removal of the threat to the sage’s happiness:140 ἀδιάφ[ορον μὲν] οὖν φάναι βίαιον, εἰ δ᾿ ἀλλότριον καὶ γινώσκει, διότι κολασθεὶς ἀνασταλήσεται καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους ἐπιστἡσει, μανικῶς οὐκ ἂν ἔλθοι πά[λι]ν καθ᾿ ἕνα γέ τινα τρόπο[ν] δακών. To call it (sc. anger) indifferent is forced, but if it is alien and he (sc. the sage) knows that the person who is punished will be checked and will halt others, then he would not proceed in a crazy way by biting back in one way or another. The sage acknowledges that the process itself is painful and does not make the mistake to think that revenge has any intrinsic value. There is no need to glorify the idea of acting with righteous anger or punishing one’s enemy as harshly as possible.141 Revenge is not sweet: it is always bitter and unpleasant, but can, at best, be a means towards future happiness, or rather, the future continuation of past happiness. Revenge is never taken for its own sake. The only thing which is considered choiceworthy for its own sake is pleasure.142 All other things, including the virtues themselves, are at best instruments towards this one goal.143 Everything that obstructs the achievement thereof should be 140 Ira 41.1–8; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), modified. 141 Ira 42.21–40. 142 Epic., Ep. Men. 128–129. 143 D.L. 10.138.

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removed from one’s life as soon as possible.144 The harassment by the sage’s enemies are, clearly, obstructions, and anger and revenge are nothing more than distasteful, yet necessary instruments to remove that obstruction. The sage accepts the painfully alien feeling as a necessary evil and allows himself to be angry and to get back at his enemy in a way that will render the latter harmless. If the law would allow it (and in some cases of legal self-defense it just might), the Epicurean sage would, in all likelihood, have no qualms about killing his enemy in the most efficient way possible. Of course, the sage will never venture beyond the law and if he cannot kill the other without permanently ruining his own ἀταραξία, he will, no doubt, come up with another way to deal his nemesis the kind of devastating blow that will make him and others like him think twice before ever crossing this particular sage again.145 Interestingly, it appears that the Epicurean sage, who usually tries to lead an undetected life, might in this case forgo subtlety. If the situation forces him to break character and to momentarily become an implacable foe, he will, apparently, seek to maximize the impact of this painful experience and make an example of his enemy. Philodemus seems to say that the sage will exact his revenge in a way which will not only take his immediate enemy down a peg, but which will also show others that it would be a very bad idea to mistake the Epicurean sage for a fainthearted pushover. Yet, despite this demonstration of his potential for ruthlessness, he continuously keeps his eyes on the prize: regaining his harm-free tranquility. As soon as he has achieved this, he will gladly abandon all feelings of anger and once again revert to his former state of calm good-naturedness.146 Although it hurts him to be angry and to punish his enemies, the process is not disturbing enough to alter the ideal configuration of his mental disposition.147 As soon as he is safe, his anger dissipates and he carries on with his life as if nothing happened. For this, he has to thank his perpetual focus on the ultimate goal of happy tranquility. If he were to seek revenge for its own sake, there would be no clear limit to his anger, except, perhaps, the enemy’s death, which would in all likelihood result in a 144 Including παιδεία, from which Pythocles is famously admonished to flee as fast as he can (D.L. 10.6). 145 Ira 41.3–6. 146 Cf. Procopé (1998), 177: ‘Anger here has a prophylactic function. (…) It would thus contribute to safety (asphaleia), a goal which Epicurus classed as a “natural good” (KD 7). And it was on that principle – rather than by claiming, as Plato and Aristotle had done, that anger is an expression of moral sensibility on the part of an irascible “spirited” faculty which takes the side of reason against the brute appetites – that the Epicureans could treat it as good and desirable’. 147 Ira 42.4–12.

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series of undesirable legal troubles. Philodemus explicitly sets the sage’s anger apart from that of those who foolishly think that taking revenge and punishing one’s enemy is a worthwhile pursuit in its own right. Such people set no limit to the duration or intensity of their anger and, as a result, they ultimately harm themselves as much as (or perhaps even more than) the person they are trying to destroy.148 This type of people possess an ‘untamed disposition’ (ἀνήμερος διάθεσις),149 are called ‘tribeless and lawless’ and love war and vengeance for their own sakes.150 In a similar vein, Philodemus criticizes the misguided Peripatetic idea that anger enhances one’s abilities to emerge victorious from a conflict and that the desire to punish one’s enemy can even be a source of pleasure.151 To his mind, the strength of angry fighters who inflict punishment for its own sake is unreliable,152 as their irrational anger is likely to cloud their judgment and their obsession with vengeance is wont to escalate into uncontrolled outbursts of intense anger.153 As a result, they tend to make crucial mistakes, and may, ultimately, fail to overcome their enemies because of these foolish errors.154 Both the fool and the sage, then, will experience anger when they exact revenge upon their enemies. The crucial difference between both types of persons is that the former’s anger is boundless and that his revenge has no 148 Ira 42.21–40. 149 In Lib. dic. fr. 83.4–5 (= 86 N), Philodemus describes the Epicurean sage in his capacity as a teacher and healer of derailed dispositions as a ‘tamer of people’ (ἀνθρωποδάμνης). 150 Ira 44.22–32. 151 Ira 31.24–32.40. 152 Ira 33.28–34. 153 Ira 42.24. 154 Ira 33.1–7. Philodemus adds that the Peripatetics overlook the fact that it is perfectly possible to fight without feeling anger (31.35–38). If the sage fights someone, he does so in a state of moderate natural anger, but this does not necessarily apply to professional soldiers. The Epicurean sage will only fight if his enemy is threatening his happiness and on the condition that fighting will effectively remove that threat. The soldier, on the other hand, fights because this is his job. His enemy has not harmed him in any way and would not threaten to do so if he himself had not chosen to enter the battlefield. In other words, if the soldier’s life and happiness are in danger, it is in the first place due to his own wrongheaded decision to take up soldiering as a profession. In a context of professionals who only try to kill each other because this is what they are being paid to do, Philodemus’ advice seems to be that they might as well fight without the burden of irrational anger, which serves no other purpose than to conform to some vaunted ideal of entering the battlefield as an enraged warrior. Naturally, Philodemus’ best advice would be not to go to war at all (cf. Diog. Oen. Fr. 112), but if the Peripatetics wish to bring up the example of angry soldiers, he is more than happy to demonstrate that even their wretched activities would be marginally less wretched without the wrongheaded Peripatetic ideal of combat rage.

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other aim than to harm the enemy. As a result, he exposes himself to unlimited empty anger, which clouds his judgment and brings him to great harm. The sage, on the other hand, will experience natural anger, limited in intensity and duration, and endures it like a sick person would endure bitter medicine or the surgeon’s scalpel.155 He will, under certain circumstances, embrace this anger and take revenge upon his adversary, but inflicting harm to the other is not his real goal.156 He may ridicule, prosecute, beat, maim, torture, or kill his enemy, depending on what the law allows him to do with impunity, but, strictly speaking, he does not care if the other ends up with a bruised ego, legal punishment, or with his head cut off. The punishment is merely instrumental. The only thing which counts for the sage is that his actions make the harassment stop and that he will once again be able to fully enjoy his unnoticed life in the company of his friends.157 It is, however, interesting to note that even the thoroughly rational Epicurean sage will exact his revenge in an angry state. In his stimulating discussion of the question of whether or not the Epicurean sage will break the law, Geert Roskam hypothetically explores what Epicurus would do, if granted the unrealistic opportunity to kill the renegade Timocrates with absolute impunity.158 His conclusion is that, in this hypothetical scenario, Epicurus would most definitely dispatch the former Epicurean in the most calculating and cool-blooded way. Roskam suggests that the murder would not be motivated by emotion, nor by a desire for revenge, but by sheer rational calculation.159 In my view, he is almost entirely right. Based on Philodemus’ claims in De ira, Epicurus would only act if his rational calculus had demonstrated that the sustained and future harm justified a drastic response. He would not kill Timocrates out of a misguided desire to make the other suffer. His goal would be to get rid of the harm which Timocrates continued to inflict upon the Garden. If the only way to stop the harassment is to kill Timocrates, Epicurus would indeed kill him and feel no remorse about it. The only point 155 Ira 44.16–22. 156 While Aristotle considers the prospect of taking revenge upon one’s enemy as an anticipatory pleasure (Rhet. 1370b9–16; 1378b1–10; cf. Tsouna (2007), 228), Philodemus’ sage will only find pleasure in the anticipation of his regained tranquility. Not the punishment itself, nor the suffering of its receiver are pleasurable, but the envisaged outcome of the sage’s decisive actions most certainly is. 157 The sage’s revenge will, no doubt, follow a premeditated rational plan, meant to achieve a specific goal, as opposed to the irascible fool’s blind efforts to hurt his adversary. Additionally, the sage will, in all likelihood, be able to enlist the help of his many likeminded friends, whereas the irascible fool is left to fend for himself, since his unpleasant character has left him bereft of friends and allies (Ira 20.34–21.4). 158 Roskam (2012). 159 Roskam (2012), 38.

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on which I disagree with Roskam is his claim that Epicurus would do so in cold blood. Admittedly, Epicurus would not allow himself to become mad with rage, nor would he fail to plan the murder in the most efficient of ways. Yet, murdering someone in cold blood implies doing so without any feelings of anger. If we read Philodemus’ account on revenge and punishment, the sage’s revenge is precisely what one would have to call (natural) anger.160 Even though the Epicurean sage is a thoroughly rational being, who does not take decisions if they have not been sanctioned by a correct rational calculus, he is no robot or psychopath either. He is an ordinary human being and, as such, he does not escape from experiencing anger as a natural reaction to the impression that he is falling victim to intentional harm. Rationality helps him decide whether his angry impulses are justified and whether or not it is appropriate to act upon them. If he decides to get back at his adversary, rationality is, no doubt, there to help him determine the most efficient route towards regaining his former harm-free tranquility. Yet, during the entire process,161 starting from the first perception of being harmed up to the moment when he has neutralized his 160 Ira 41.8–9. 161 Of course, that process will not last for very long. The sage’s fit of anger is, after all, brief (Ira 40.2). If it were to take years before our hypothetical Epicurus saw an opportunity to kill Timocrates, he would definitely not spend all this time in a permanent state of anger. The Epicurean categorization of pain is perhaps relevant here: severe pain does not last long, whereas enduring pain is easy to bear and may even be compensated by feelings of pleasure (KD 4). If it is an acceptable option to wait for several years before dealing with Timocrates, this implies that the latter’s evil deeds were bearable enough for Epicurus and his friends to survive for all that time without seeing themselves forced to leave everything behind and to flee to somewhere so remote that Timocrates would no longer be able to harm them. In that case, Epicurus would hardly feel the need to burden himself with painful feelings of anger and a desire to inflict punishment. If Epicurus were indeed to kill Timocrates after such a long time, it would, in all likelihood, not be an angry response to the overall impression of being harmed during all those years, but rather to one of several specific instances of harm. Epicurus’ reaction will concern individual harmful actions and their painful consequences. In other words, Epicurus will assess the gravity of the harm and the possible advantages of angry punishment every time he himself or one of his friends are hurt by Timocrates. In our hypothetical situation, this would mean that, in the course of several years, Timocrates commits specific harmful acts. These cause Epicurus to feel an angry bite, which he then evaluates by answering two questions: (1) ‘Am I being harmed significantly and deliberately?’ – ‘Yes, I am’; and (2) ‘Will an angry response eliminate the threat?’. As long as the answer to the second question is negative, Epicurus’ bite of anger will dissipate. One day, however, Timocrates might commit one of his many grievous acts against Epicurus and this time, the latter might find that he has both the means and the opportunity to kill Timocrates and can, as a result, offer a positive answer to both questions of his rational calculus. From that point onwards up to Timocrates’ death, Epicurus will feel natural anger.

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opponent and can once again revert to his usual tranquility, he feels anger. The sage’s anger may be moderate – it is by no means intense enough to significantly disturb him – and it may be limited in duration, but if our hypothetical Epicurus were to plunge a knife into Timocrates’ traitorous heart, in fulfillment of a rational desire for a life free from harm, he would do so in a (moderately) angry state of mind, rather than in cold blood. 5.2.4 The Powerless Sage: Better to Suffer Injustice than to Commit It? If the sage is harmed in a significant and intentional way, he will get angry and take punitive action on the condition that there is solid reason to believe that doing so will effectively remove the threat. If an angry response is expected to be ineffective, then the sage will resort to other strategies, such as, for example, avoiding the enemy or leaving the country entirely. One can, however, imagine certain situations in which even the sage runs out of options. If the sage’s enemies are exceptionally conniving, they might, through slander and false accusations, manage to have a court of law find him guilty for crimes he never committed. An unjust tyrant or a bunch of jealous politicians might draw upon their considerable political power and influence to sentence the innocent sage to death for little or no reason at all. The sage is, of course, a prudent type of person, who takes great care not to attract unwanted attention and to stay well clear of such dire situations. Yet, exceedingly rare as these occasions may be, Philodemus acknowledges that sometimes even the sage might find himself in a precarious situation where he is being harmed by a more powerful person or group of people, without the possibility to run away or to accomplish anything at all with his natural anger. If the sage is forced to follow into the unenviable footsteps of Palamedes, Callisthenes, or Socrates, his options to defend himself against his enemies are deploringly slim. How, then will the sage deal with this sort of situation? It seems that Philodemus also considered this an interesting question. His answer in De morte reads as follows:162 On the other hand, when [someone lives] a good [life] and one pure of every stain, (then) on being brought to such a fate (sc. receiving an unjust death sentence) as a result of envy and slander and a conspiracy of utterly wicked men, he will know that his sufferings, if any are present, cause [no] more distress than (they would if they were) due to illness; and using the consolations that he knows (οἷς τε γ[ι]νώσκει παραμ[υ]θίοις χρώμενος), he will get the upper hand of them. And as for the manner of his death, he will not consider it blameworthy or wretched either by himself or because 162 M. 113.21–114.11; transl. Henry (2009).

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outsiders suppose (it to be), because neither all (of them) nor many think (it to be), and even if all regarded it as such, he would have the knowledge that he would keep his life as a blameless and blessed one, paying no attention to innumerable insects. (…) And he believes also that those who condemned (him) have been punished throughout their life by the vice in them, and that they will be pained by many regret on his account, and perhaps even be punished more unpleasantly by others (πείθεται δὲ καὶ τοὺς καταγνόντας ἔν τε τῶι παντὶ βίωι τετιμωρῆσθαι πρὸς τῆς ἐν αὑτοῖς κακίας καὶ δι᾿ αὐτὸν μεταμελείαις πολλαῖς ὀδυνήσεσθαι, τάχα δὲ καὶ κολασθήσεσθαι δυσχερέστερον ὑπ᾿ ἄλλων). This passage is part of an enumeration of specific ways in which one might come face to face with death. Philodemus’ overall goal is to demonstrate that the circumstances of one’s death do not change the fact that death is, by its very definition, of no importance to us. Even scenario’s which are traditionally considered extraordinarily painful, such as dying at sea or as the result of an unjust accusation, are, strictly speaking, no worse than dying from an illness or mere old age. The Epicurean interest in combatting the fear of death is of course well-attested, and Philodemus’ arguments in De morte are, for the most part, a practical application of well-known Epicurean precepts and strategies of consolation to some interesting specific situations. If the sage is sentenced to death by an unjust tyrant or jury, then, he can resort to these numerous consolations, which he knows by heart. It does not matter to him how non-Epicurean outsiders would assess his situation, nor that they might find his predicament worthy of lamentation. As far as the sage is concerned, only his own Epicurean views on death and dying are of importance. Although the passage does not explicitly state so, we may probably surmise that the sage feels a bite of natural anger when he is unjustly accused and then sentenced to death by a corrupt judge or jury.163 In all likelihood, he does not allow this initial bite to grow into real anger. Being at the mercy of unjust people, becoming angry will not remove the threat. As a result, neither anger nor revenge are acceptable courses of action, as they would only result in powerless empty rage and an unpleasant sense of frustration. No doubt, the sage knows better ways to spend his final hours, rather than to spoil his tranquility 163 Philodemus admits that this is one of the cases in which it is hard not to feel a bite of pain (112.37–34.1: συνγνωστὸν ἂν δόξειεν εἶναι τὸ λυπεῖσθαι; 113.12: τὸ μὲν ἀδήκτως ἔχειν κατὰ πᾶν οὐ ῥάιδιον), but he does not explicitly identify it as a bite of natural anger. Elsewhere in De morte, Philodemus refers to different types of death where intentional harm does not play a role, but where one may also experience a painful bite. For a more detailed discussion of this, I refer to the next chapter.

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with useless emotions.164 Consolations and pleasant recollections, then, seem to be the sage’s only available route at this stage. Interestingly, though, Philodemus suggests that the specific situation of being condemned by wicked people allows the sage to make use of yet another consolation, in addition to the usual ones. Apparently, the sage finds consolation in the knowledge that his accusers and judges are worse off than he himself. They are, after all, by definition vice-riddled. If they were not, they would never even think about ending the life of a completely innocent and kind human being like the Epicurean sage. Being full of vices, these people lack mental tranquility and cannot hope to achieve true happiness.165 As a result, their whole life must be utterly wretched. Moreover, so Philodemus points out, they will come to rue their horrible transgressions against the sage and risk being punished by others. Philodemus’ addition that they might be punished by others suggests that the evildoers’ regrets are not necessarily motivated by a sense of moral awareness. Even if the culprit is ruthless enough never to feel even the slightest bit of remorse, he may still be pained by the tardy insight that no bad deed goes unpunished and by the resulting fear of highly unpleasant future consequences.166 This accords perfectly with the Epicurean theory of justice, according to which human laws are mere constructs. The real reason not to break them is that one can never be sure that the future will not bring punishment.167 The Epicurean sage knows this beforehand and will therefore refrain from committing crimes. Thus, he avoids having to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life in fear of possible punishment, which would be highly detrimental to his state of ἀταραξία. The sage’s unjust accuser or judge, on the other hand, will only find out about this particular point when he has already committed his crimes and starts being plagued by fear and paranoia. Who, then, might these ‘others’ be, who will possibly take revenge upon the sage? In the first place, one might think of the sage’s own friends and next of kin, who will, in all likelihood, not look all too kindly upon the person who has ended the life of their dear friend. Considering that Epicurean sages tend to have a lot of friends, and that Epicureans are always ready to come to the 164 He will, for example, muse about past happy moments with his dear friends (cf. D.L. 10.22). 165 Of course, even they might be helped if an Epicurean teacher would be so kind as to help them cure their mental disposition. It is, however, very unlikely that any Epicurean would willingly approach a person who has been known to kill Epicurean sages, just because he can. Although even a sage-killer’s diseased διάθεσις might, theoretically, be salvageable, it is very likely that it will, in reality, be left to fester and destroy its possessor, due to a complete lack of teachers and doctors of the soul willing to attend to it. 166 Cf. Konstan (2010), 78. 167 KD 35.

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aid of their friends, there seem to be a lot of people whom the sage’s enemy has to fear. The question is, of course, whether the sage’s Epicurean friends would actually take revenge. Revenge must, after all, serve a direct purpose and effectively remove a significant threat. An Epicurean would know that their dead friend is no longer in any danger. If they were to take revenge, the dead sage would no longer be able to experience any benefit from it. In fact, to an Epicurean’s mind, it might even be a more serious punishment just to let the enemy lead a long life, which is, after all, thoroughly miserable, on account of the countless vices that plague him incessantly. Even so, the sage’s Epicurean friends might decide to make a move against his killer, if they have good reason to believe that this evildoer will harm them as well.168 In that case, however, they would no really be motivated by a desire of revenge on account of their lost friend, but by the pressing need to keep themselves out of harm’s way. However, these punishing ‘others’ do not really need to be affiliated with the sage. Tyrants and powerful politicians have high-profile lives, and are, as such, very likely to attract unwanted attention from people who might bear them ill will. Moreover, a person who commits such grievous injustices against an unreproachable citizen like the Epicurean sage is, no doubt, wont to make lots of enemies. Even if these prove unable to murder or depose the tyrant, the latter would still have to lead his life with the continuous burden of having people conspire against him. Even if they do not end his existence or reign, they will still manage to make his life highly unpleasant, causing him to live in a permanent state of fear and distrust. This might explain why Philodemus states that the powerful people who sentence the sage to death may be punished in a way that is even more unpleasant than the sage’s fate. The sage would rather have lived on, but now that he has been robbed of the chance to do so, he consoles himself with the knowledge that his life is already perfect and that additional years would not be able to make it even more perfect than it already is,169 whereas death is inevitable anyway and it itself no cause for pain or distress. The unjust tyrant or politician, on the other hand, has to live many years in a

168 Yet, even then, the first option would be to leave this unjust and, above all, unsafe city or country, and to move on to a less hazardous environment, conform Philodemus’ express advice in Rh. (lib. incert.) 1.33–39 p.259 Sudhaus. Only if that option is not particularly feasible will they consider to take action against their friend’s powerful assailants. 169 See Warren (2006), 161–212 on the Epicurean view on premature death and the sage’s complete life.

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state of wretchedness and unabating fear, while the sage has already ceased to exist and is beyond all pain or fear.170 A similar type of punishment is applicable if the sage was not brought to trial by an unjust ruler or politician, but by conniving sycophants and envious slanderers from the common population. Like the tyrant, they make many enemies and are frowned upon by people who disapprove of their malice and deeply mistrust them. Moreover, from an Epicurean perspective, laws are only useful if they are able to guarantee the safety of those who do not break them. Once the law has been broken with impunity, or worse even, once the law has been misused to condemn an innocent person, the rule of law is irreparably damaged. If the law can be used to sentence one innocent person to death, the same thing can happen to others as well, including those who created the dangerous precedent in the first place. If the sage’s envious neighbor enlists the help of a couple of his cronies and manages to convince a judge and jury of the truthfulness of their false accusations, his victory will be Pyrrhic. In the process, he will have robbed himself, his accomplices, and every other fellow citizen who knows that the accusations were false of their erstwhile trust in the rule of law and its capacity to safeguard the innocent from harm and undeserved punishment. Even if no one uses his own sneaky tactics against him, the sage’s false accuser will have to spend the rest of his days in fear of sycophants. The Philodemean sage who finds himself at the mercy of his enemies, then, will seek refuge in soothing cognitive tactics to deal with his powerlessness and imminent death. He will remember that death is nothing to him and that the manner of his death is of no importance. We should, however, ask ourselves how the sage can find solace in the thought that his enemy has condemned himself to a life of ceaseless suffering, potentially culminating in terrible punishment. Is the pleasure of having one’s enemy suffer not an instance of ἐπιχαιρεκακία, the enjoyment of someone else’s deserved misfortune? Yet, Philodemus associates this passion with envy and advises against it,171 as does 170 Although Philodemus only refers to famous Greeks examples of unjust death sentences, it is far from unlikely that the topic itself was included because of its particular relevance for a contemporary Roman audience. The traumatic proscriptions of Sulla back in 82 bc was, no doubt, still fresh in the public memory (cf. Armstrong (2011), 114). Depending on De morte’s date of composition (possibly the final quarter of the first century bc; cf. Capasso (2020), 419), even the proscription of 43 bc might have served as a very recent background for Philodemus’ discussion of the issue. Yet, when it comes to the idea that the unjust politician’s deeds will come back to bite him, there might be an elephant in the room, who listens to the name Marcus Tullius Cicero. Piso and his friends would most certainly not have forgotten how Cicero’s hasty and unlawful execution of Lentulus and other Catilinarian conspirators led to his banishment in 58 bc. 171 Inv. fr. 17.

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Lucretius, who states that the suffering of another person can never be a source of pleasure in its own right.172 It would seem that this particular example of the sage’s interaction with his enemies and the harm they inflict upon him, brings us back to the earlier topic of disdain and pity.173 Analogously to the scene in the proem to DRN 2, Philodemus’ sage does not enjoy the fact that his enemy is or will be suffering.174 Rather, he compares his life, about to be cut short though it is, with that of the other person. To his mind, the only correct conclusion which can be drawn from such a comparison is that his shorter life and the happiness that it entails are infinitely superior to his enemy’s wretched existence. It is this very insight, rather than his enemy’s future suffering in itself, that provides him with a sense of joy in those final moments of his life. Thus, Philodemus’ discussion of the case of the condemned sage offers a typically Epicurean approach to an issue which is already present in Plato’s Gorgias.175 Here Socrates argues that the person who uses his power to put innocent people to death as he sees fit is not at all enviable, but wretched (ἄθλιος) and even pitiful (ἐλεεινός).176 To his interlocutor’s objection that, surely, the person who is sentenced to death unjustly is both pitiful and wretched, Socrates answers that this person is less pitiful and wretched than the one who actually sentenced him to death.177 The Socratic principle upon which these claims rest is that it is far worse to commit injustice than to suffer it, as he considers the former the greatest of all evils. In fact, Socrates goes even so far as to state that, if given the choice between these two options, he would prefer to fall victim to another’s misdeeds, rather than to commit misdeeds himself. Naturally, an Epicurean like Philodemus does not view matters in Platonic terms of transcendent good or evil. Nevertheless, he reaches the same conclusion as Socrates: the sage who suffers from the tyrant’s misdeeds is better off than the tyrant himself. This is not due to their moral virtue in itself, which is, after all, merely instrumental in Epicurean ethics, but due to the fact that the sage’s wisdom has allowed him to abstain from troubling vices and to achieve 172 DRN 2.3–4. 173 See section 5.1 earlier in this chapter. 174 Cf. supra. 175 Tsouna (2007), 297 already hints at a Socratic echo in this Philodemean passage. 176 Pl., Grg. 469AB. 177 In fact, Socrates considers this person even less wretched and pitiable than someone who is sentenced to death justly. The latter is, after all, punished by the fact that his life is a miserable affair full of vices. Note how this accords with Philodemus’ comments on the convicted criminal, which we discussed earlier in this chapter. Of course, Philodemus’ Epicurean point of view attributes the criminal’s wretchedness to the disturbances which are caused by his vicious actions, rather than to his vices themselves.

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true happiness, whereas the tyrant’s vices cause him to take actions which will inevitably lead to what the Epicureans would consider the greatest of all evils: a thoroughly unpleasant existence, bereft of tranquil happiness and trustworthy friends, but filled with continuous fear and distress. The Epicurean sage, then, can die in peace, knowing that he has achieved the highest good, the wisdom to lead his life in perfect happiness, while the example of his wicked adversary shows him once again from what sort of abominable existence he has managed to escape. The powerless sage, then, may forego outbursts of anger and the desire for revenge, but his attitude of profound disdain for his wicked opponent is very much part of his coping mechanism, as is his sense of joy when he compares his own happiness to the other’s truly pitiful existence. The fact that the wicked tyrant or false accuser has to lead his life in fear of future punishment is yet another aspect in which the sage’s short, yet unencumbered existence greatly surpasses that of his enemy. The thought that the people who put him to death are very likely to be punished may contribute to the sage’s pleasure in yet another way. He might reflect upon the fact that the influence of corrupt and unjust people is often short-lived, which means that his own friends and family members might soon witness the downfall of these people and thus be freed from the danger of suffering the sage’s own fate. Even if the sage knows very well that he himself will in no way benefit from whatever happens to his enemy after his own death, the mere idea that his enemies might soon be removed from their position of power and the contemplation of a safer future for his surviving dear ones might suffice to bring a smile to the sage’s face, as he waits for the executioner to do his job.

Chapter 6

The Sage’s Self-Control τὸ κεφάλαιον τῆς εὐδαιμονίας ἡ διάθεσις ἧς ἡμεῖς κύριοι Diogenes of Oenoanda fr. 112.1–3

∵ In this chapter, we will consider three largely independent issues which are all, in their own way, related to the overall topic of the sage’s ability to exercise control over his own emotional state. In the first section, we will take a closer look at the concept of bites, which has already been touched upon in the previous chapter with regard to the sage’s angry response whenever he experiences harm. In this chapter, we will also pay attention to the role of ‘bites’ of sorrow in Philodemus’ De morte. This will allow us to gain a more profound understanding of how these natural bites relate to the Epicurean sage’s meticulous rationality. In a second section, we will turn to the question whether the sage can control his anger to the extent that he might suppress the emotion itself and whether he sometimes merely feigns its outward appearance in order to further his own goals. A third and last section deals with the question whether the Philodemean sage will allow himself to become drunk. To the minds of Philodemus and some of his Epicurean opponents, drunkenness and anger are closely related topics, which both pertain to the sage’s ability to walk the line between moderated passion and its boundless counterpart. 6.1

Bites of Anger and Sorrow

6.1.1 Introduction In order to describe painful, yet natural emotions which are both inevitable and appropriate for the sage, Philodemus uses the terms ‘bites’ (δηγμοί) and ‘stings’

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(νυγμοί).1 These terms denote unpleasant sensations which are, however, neither all too intense, nor long-lasting. It has been pointed out that the idea of ‘bites’ is well-attested outside Epicureanism, notably in Stoic doctrine, where the term implies a sort of first movement, which is in itself only a pre-emotion, rather an an actual emotion. In Epicureanism, however, Philodemus’ De ira and De morte are the earliest and in fact the only extant texts where ‘bites’ are mentioned.2 Over the past few decades, several eminent scholars have spilled ink over the question whether or not Philodemus’ Epicurean ‘bites’ are indebted to their Stoic counterparts.3 It would, however, go far beyond this chapter’s scope to partake in this particular debate. For our present purposes, it suffices to state that Philodemus’ ‘bites’ are definitely not identical to the Stoic ones and that a major point of difference lies in the fact that the Stoics do not consider ‘bites’ to be real emotions, whereas Philodemus most certainly uses the term to denote actual emotions, which cause real pain to the people who experience them. It should, in fact, be noted that Philodemus uses the predicate ‘biting’ for a variety of painful sensations. Anger inflicts a bite or a sting,4 and so does the painful prospect of one’s own death in some cases, which we will discuss further on. Yet, to be rebuked by a teacher who uses frank criticism may also cause one to experience a ‘biting’ sensation.5 The extant textual evidence does not allow us to determine whether the idea of ‘bites’ and ‘stings’ was already present in the thinking of earlier Epicureans, but Philodemus’ somewhat opportunistic usage of the idea of ‘bites’ and ‘being bitten’ in various contexts may suggest that it was not so deeply imbedded into the Epicurean philosophical lexicon as it seems to have been in that of the Stoics. 6.1.2 Bites of Anger In Philodemus’ extant oeuvre, ‘bites’ of an emotion and related terminology occur only in De morte and De ira. Mostly, existing scholarship departs from De ira and only points to De morte to further discuss the concept of ‘bites’ in Philodemus’ thought. This is, perhaps, somewhat surprising, considering that Philodemus makes sparse use of the term δηγμοί in De ira. Terminology which would refer to νυγμοί, on the other hand, is not even attested in the conserved parts of this work. 1 Tsouna (2007), 49, n. 53 mentions the term νυγμός. It should, however, be noted that the noun νυγμός is, strictly speaking, not attested in Philodemus’ extant texts, although he repeatedly uses the verb νύττειν. 2 Tsouna (2007), 46. 3 See, for example, Sorabji (2000), passim; Tsouna (2007), 44–51; Armstrong (2008), 88–97. 4 Ira 12.17–22; 37.16–20. 5 Lib. dic. fr. 26.9–10; col. 8b.11–13; col. 12a.

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In fact, De ira contains only two literal references to ‘bites’ in the context of the painfulness of anger. The first concerns the pain which irascible people feel whenever anger spurs them on towards irrational behavior.6 The other one occurs at the very beginning of Philodemus’ discussion of natural and empty anger, where he tries to demonstrate that natural anger is both unavoidable and useful, while its empty counterpart is not.7 The fact that some people, notably the Epicurean Nicasicrates, suppose that all anger is evil is due to the fact that it causes one to feel a ‘bite’, so Philodemus informs us here. In what follows, he proceeds to argue that this ‘bite’ is only mildly painful in the case of natural anger and that the benefits of this type of anger outweigh this moderate sense of pain.8 These, then, are the only direct references to ‘bites’ of anger in De ira. There are, however, numerous passages which describe sensations of brief and moderate anger, which arise spontaneously, as a natural reaction to the impression of being harmed. Although Philodemus does not explicitly use the term ‘bites’ in these cases, it is, in all likelihood, safe to assume that these are also examples of that same phenomenon. Considering that we have already treated of the issue of bites and the sage’s natural anger in the previous chapter, there is no need to discuss them much further in the present one. As a result, we can quickly move on towards the other types of emotional bites in Philodemus’ extant writings. 6.1.3 Bites of Sorrow Compared to De ira, De morte uses ‘bites’ and ‘stings’ more often and in a somewhat more consistent way, which allows us to gain a better insight in Philodemus’ conceptualization of these terms. This work is less technical and features a clear structure which was, in all likelihood, meant to make the text more appealing for non-expert audiences.9 Throughout De morte, Philodemus likes to make use of contrasting pairs. Consider, for instance, the death at sea of the pitiful merchant, which is contrasted with that of the decent man, who sails on urgent business but is just plain unlucky.10 Philodemus uses this same procedure to contrast situations in which a ‘bite’ or a ‘sting’ of pain at the prospect of dying is forgivable, with others in which it is not. 6 7 8 9 10

Ira 12.17–22. Ira 37.16–20. See section 5.2. Armstrong (2004), 19–20. See the section on pity in chapter five.

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It is, for example, foolish to worry about who will inherit one’s money and belongings. Yet, it is another matter altogether if someone faces death knowing that he has little or nothing to bequeath to his beloved ones and that, as a result, they will suffer from material hardship upon his demise.11 In that case, even the sage will experience a very natural bite when he thinks about this prospect.12 It should, however, be noted, that the sage will only feel a short and moderate bite of grief, without ending up in a protracted state of emotional misery. Philodemus offers rational arguments which a person who finds himself in such a situation can use to soothe his distress, preventing the mere bite to intensify or endure. The section which contains Philodemus’ counterarguments is poorly preserved, but from the legible parts we glean that the wise person can find solace in the fact that, even if he has little wealth to bequeath to his dear ones, he definitely has friends who will serve as guardians and who will make sure that his surviving family members will be provided for.13 He will also be comforted by his own efforts to imbue his close relatives and friends with a good understanding of Epicurean wisdom, which will allow them to bear his death at no significant cost to their own chances of being happy.14 Moreover, even if he has somehow been prevented from making any of these arrangements, he will still be able to convince himself that it is useless to lament the vicissitudes of the living when he himself will soon enter a state of non-existence, from which point onwards he will not even be able to experience pain or pleasure for his own sake.15 It is also foolish to worry about the location of one’s death and burial if this sorrow is motivated by an absurd preoccupation with one’s chances of reaching the underworld from that location.16 It is, however, perfectly natural for someone to feel grief when their imminent death in a foreign country means that their parents and relatives are far away from them. Yet, even then, it is no so much the location of one’s death that is a cause for pain, but the fact 11 This group of people included, in all likelihood, both one’s family members and one’s friends: cf. Oec. 27.5–9: φίλων μὲν τοίνυν ὑπαρχό[ν]των φειστέον μᾶλλον, ἵν᾿ ἔχωσιν καὶ τελευτήσαντος ἐ[φ]ό[διον], καὶ οἷα τ[έ]κνα θετέον (…): ‘Thus, of one has friends, one should save more in order that they may have [means of maintaining themselves] even after one’s death and one should regard them as one’s children’ (transl. Tsouna (2013)). 12 M. 104.2–10. 13 M. 104.27–30. Compare how Epicurus himself wrote a will in order to make provisions for his surviving friends and their family (D.L. 10.16–22). See also Leiwo – Remes (1999); Warren (2001); (2006), 162–199; Suits (2020), 185–188 for detailed discussions of Epicurus’ will and the issue of Epicurean testaments in general. 14 M. 104.30–34. 15 M. 104.34–37. 16 M. 106.8–15.

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that living far removed from one’s family entails inconveniences.17 Even so, this thought is merely stinging (νύττειν), rather than downright devastating. Upon our death, we will no longer be aware of whatever happens to our body, which means that, ultimately, it does not really matter where our remains lie and whether or not there are relatives present to see to its proper burial.18 Similarly, it is normal to feel a sting when one is to die before reaching wisdom.19 Yet, even here there are rational arguments to prevent this painful sting from escalating into profound grief. Whatever pleasure has been gained while still making progress towards Epicurean perfection, is pleasure which can never again be taken away.20 The memory of it lasts and as soon as one dies and becomes unable to enjoy this pleasure any further, one will no longer be there to feel this loss. A final example is that of the person who feels pain at the prospect that no one is going to remember him after his death.21 If that bite of pain is due to the fact that a person has no friends left who might remember him, it is considered a natural emotional response, because it signifies the absence of friends during one’s life, which is, indeed, a wretched condition. Of course, the Epicurean sage would have taken care to make as many friends as he could during his lifetime. Such a person can only find himself bereft of friends near the end of his life if all of his friends have been stolen away by death, leaving him to face death alone.22 Yet, despite this natural bite of grief, the sage can find solace in the rational thought that, at least, he had friends during most of his lifespan, when he really needed them. Now that he is about to die, he knows that he will soon enter a stage of non-existence, from which point onward he will no longer have any use for friends.23 6.1.4 A Bite of Envy? Additionally, Philodemus’ treatise De invidia might contain a reference to a painful bite of envy. Like anger and sorrow, envy is a passion. It is felt when one 17

18 19 20 21 22 23

Analogously to the case of the person who is unable to leave goods behind for his surviving next of kin, the person who dies in foreign parts might also feel a bite of pain while realizing that the distance has made it impossible for him to make arrangements for the sake of his family members back home. M. 105.7–106.8. M. 96.32. See also Mitsis (1988b); Striker (1988); Rosenbaum (1990); Warren (2006), 109–159; Sanders (2011), 220–234; and Suits (2020), 37–65 on this topic. The study of Epicurean doctrine is, after all, supposed to be a source of continuous pleasure in itself, even at those times when its ultimate goal has not yet been achieved (SV 27). M. 114.34–39. M. 114.39–115.2. M. 115.28.

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notices that other persons possess desirable material goods or good fortune of which one is bereft. Although the highly fragmentary text does not explicitly refer to bites of any sort, nor to forgivable or appropriate instances of envy, it does contain the sort of rational counterargument which is reminiscent of those in De morte. In De invidia, we read the following passage:24 νομίζομεν ἀδ[ιάφορ]ον εἶναι κακοῖς περιπεσεῖσθαί τισιν ἢ μὴ πολλο[ῖ]ς κα[ὶ] συνεχέσιν· ἐνθυμητέον δὲ [κ]αὶ [δ]ιότι πολλὰ τῶν ἀγαθῶν [κἂ]ν στερῆτ[αί] τις ὠφέλημα πολλοῖς ἢ καὶ τῆι πόλει κοι[ν]ῶς ἐν ἧι καὶ α]ὐτοὶ περιειλήμμεθ[α]. we believe that it is an indifferent to fall upon some bad things or upon bad things which are neither many nor intense; and one must also consider that, even if one is robbed of them, many of the good things are a benefit for many people or for the city collectively, in which we ourselves are also included. The underlying idea of this passage seems to be that, even if it is, undeniably, very unfortunate to fall upon hard times, one should still not give in to envy at the sight of fellow citizens who are less unfortunate. A good way to soothe this sense of envy would be to keep in mind that even the fortune of others can, ultimately, prove to be beneficial. If many people in one’s city prosper and if the city in general prospers, this can only help improve the quality of the living circumstances in that particular city. The sage knows that, even if he is experiencing some setbacks, while others are not, it is advantageous to him if the city in which he lives has happy inhabitants, a solid economy, a low rate of poverty and criminality, and a stable political situation. All of these factors can contribute to his own sense of security and wellbeing. After all, he himself is also a member of the city (ἐν ἧι καὶ αὐτοὶ περιελήμμεθα), and the suggestion is that he, in spite of his individual adversity, nevertheless somehow takes part in the common prosperity. The fact that Philodemus includes this kind of counter to envy seems to suggest that a bite of envy might be considered forgivable, provided that the sage takes care to use rational arguments so as to prevent his envy from becoming a more intense and long-lasting affair. If a bite of envy were not both natural and forgivable, Philodemus would, in all likelihood, simply have pointed at the foolishness of becoming envious. Instead, he clearly offers a rational consolation, rather than a direct rebuke. This suggests that the concept of natural ‘bites’ of emotion is not restricted to anger and sorrow but can also be applied 24 Inv. fr. 18.

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to other kinds of passions which may arise when bad things happen to something about which even the sage will care. 6.1.5 Natural Emotions and Rational Assessment Based on all of these examples, we can conclude that what Philodemus repeatedly describes as ‘bites’ or ‘stings’ corresponds to a kind of real emotion, which arises on its own accord and causes real, yet relatively mild pain. They are inevitable for all human beings, including one so perfect as the sage, and, as a result, Philodemus can confidently state that it is forgivable to feel this type of emotion whenever we are confronted with damage to, or the loss of something we deeply care about. Intentional harm to ourselves or our friends is likely to cause a bite of anger, while the loss of friends or family, or the knowledge that they might suffer from hardships is sufficient cause to experience a sudden sting of grief. David Armstrong argues that Philodemus’ bites differ from the Stoic ones in the sense that the latter are pre-emotions, followed by mental assent, whereas the former are real emotions, which are not followed by a process of mental sanctioning.25 I think he is partly right. Philodemus’ bites are, indeed, real emotions, which arise naturally and inevitably in response to a given situation. Even the Epicurean sage has no way to keep them from manifesting themselves. Yet, that does not mean that the sage’s rationality will not interfere with the further development of the emotional state towards which the bite is a first, yet very real, hence painful, step. Bites are a response to situations in which something bad happens to something that is important to us. The sage is better off than the fool in the sense that he will, in all likelihood, be exempt from feeling anger of grief when someone damages his chances of immortal glory, political fame, or immeasurable wealth. He does not care about these things and, as a result, he will not be naturally inclined to feel a painful bite in response to this injustice.26 Yet, whenever the things or people about whom he does care are in danger, he instinctively experiences an emotional bite. The bite itself may be unavoidable, but what happens next surely is not. Clearly, the sage makes a rational assessment of the emotion which naturally arose in him in order to establish whether or not he can and should suppress it. Anger, for example, can be a useful tool to defend oneself against a serious threat.27 The desirability of acting upon this natural emotion has to be 25 Armstrong (2008). 26 Cf. Tsouna (2007), 48: ‘Besides, Philodemus’ ‘bites’ are natural and involuntary only up to a point. For, since they involve judgements, they are able to be influenced by reason’. 27 Ira 38.18–27; 41.1–9; 44.16–22.

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assessed in every given situation, taking into account all relevant factors. Rational thought is crucial here, as it is in all Epicurean choices and avoidances. As we have seen in the previous chapter, the sage’s anger is limited in duration. It is limited by the extent of its effectiveness. It is embraced in order to achieve a specific goal and will cease to exist as soon as soon as its mission has been accomplished. This requires a rational choice on the sage’s part. We may conclude, then, that natural bites of anger precede rational reflection. It would, after all, be absurd to claim that the sage’s inevitable natural emotion will only arise after he has had time to evaluate all relevant parameters with regard to the effectiveness of getting angry. If the sage decides that it would be better for his own happiness not to pursue a certain emotional state beyond the point to which the first, unavoidable bite has brought him, he will take steps to dispel this painful emotion and to return to his former tranquility. Yet, the sage does not suppress emotions through sheer willpower. In order to soothe a painful emotion, he has to convince himself that it is not called for in a given instance. To accomplish this, he has to apply rational thought. There is plenty of textual evidence that shows that the fear of death and the fear of the gods are not simply conjured away or suppressed through inhuman feats of self-control. Instead, they are removed with the help of an extensive array of airtight rational arguments, which every Epicurean rehearses until he knows them by heart.28 Only then can he be sure that he will be able to resort to them whenever he finds himself in a crisis situation.29 The sage does not simply flick a switch to change from an emotional human being into an emotionless machine. He has to convince himself that he should not allow the bite to escalate into a disturbing emotion, and to do so, he needs sound rational arguments. In the case of an angry bite, he has to assess whether anger will improve things. The decision whether or not he will act upon his anger and possibly take revenge upon his adversary hinges entirely upon his own rational appraisal of the situation and the balance of arguments in favor and against acting in anger. Similarly, the sage can be forgiven for feeling a pang of grief in certain situations with regard to his own imminent death, but such feelings are not usually 28 Consider, above all, the closing lines of Epicurus’ Letter to Menoeceus, where he exhorts the addressee to exercise himself continuously in the appropriation of Epicureanism’s core ethical doctrines (Ep. Men. 135). See also Schmidt (1962), 734–735; Clay (1973b); Gabaude (1983), 62–63; Nussbaum (1994), 129–133; Asmis (2001), 216–222; Spinelli (2012), 29–30; Heßler (2014), 325–334; Tulli (2014), 69; Braicovich (2017b); Spinelli (2019); Damiani (2021), 115–124. 29 Cf. Damiani (2021), 125–128.

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supposed to become more than mere emotional bites. He must ask himself whether it will accomplish something good to give in to sadness. The answer, of course, is obvious: prolonged sadness will, usually, fail to do the sage any good. To the contrary, it is very likely to ruin whatever time he still has left until his death, which would be better spent if it were devoted to pleasant conversations with friends and to the recollection of happy moments from the past. The only exception to this rule might be the case of the sage who has been sentenced to death unjustly. It is, after all, not inconceivable that the sage might have good reason to believe that the judge or jury will be moved by his tears and decide to show him mercy after all. Considering that the sage always takes into account the specific circumstances in order to maximize his pleasure,30 it is perhaps not a priori unthinkable that he will show his genuine grief in front of a jury if that will help him cheat death.31 Be that as it may, if prolonged sadness is deemed useless and even harmful to the happiness of the sage’s final days, he will use rational arguments to convince himself of this fact. With the examples which we discussed above, Philodemus offers numerous such arguments of which the dying Epicurean can easily make use in order to soothe the painful sting of grief and to prevent it from developing in a more enduring state of sorrow. Even at the height of an emotional experience, a rational human being should be able to respond to rational arguments. Philodemus’ dispute with the Epicurean Timasagoras is highly relevant in this context.32 The latter appears to have claimed that it is useless to deploy a therapeutic diatribe in order to cure an irascible person while he is experiencing anger. These people have lost all rationality at that point, so he claims, and are therefore no longer able to make a rational assessment of their own emotions.33 Against this, Philodemus argues that it is, contrary to Timasagoras’ belief, highly effective to describe to angry persons what their irrational emotion looks like, what its unpleasant effects are, and which sorts of nefarious consequences it might entail. The irascible person himself might not be able to make a rational appraisal of his empty anger, but 30 He will, for example, pay court to a monarch if the circumstances require him to do so (D.L. 10.120). 31 If the Epicurean sage were in Socrates’ shoes (or sandals), he would probably refrain from provocative behavior in front of the judges and take the easy way out instead. In all likelihood, he would not really mind being exiled from the city as someone who has a bad influence upon the city’s youth, at least if that means getting the opportunity to depart from a hazardous place and move to a safer environment in order to lead the rest of his life in unnoticed peace. 32 Ira 1–7. 33 Ira 7.6–9.

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if the philosopher helps him to visualize it, he will quickly see the error of his ways and try to abandon his empty anger in favor of a more equilibrated mental state.34 Similarly, the sage acknowledges his own humanity and the inevitability of his own emotional responses to certain situations, but makes a rational appraisal of his emotions. He does not try to suppress these bites, of which he knows that they are unavoidable, but convinces himself not to let matters get out of hand. In sum, the natural emotion will run its course until good arguments can be offered to demonstrate that it should not. The natural reaction inevitably precedes the rational response to it, but the latter can prevent the former from escalating into something unnatural and therefore no longer mildly, but profoundly painful. 6.2

Will the Sage Feign Anger?

6.2.1 Introduction Based on Philodemus’ lengthy discussion of inevitable bites of anger, natural anger appropriate for the sage, and the fact that the sage may become angry, but not enraged, we can safely conclude that the sage will under certain circumstances experience genuine anger. It has, however, been suggested that the sage may sometimes feign anger when he does not feel the emotion itself, but still believes that an angry response might be more effective than a more neutral one. This is especially relevant in pedagogical contexts. When the sage notices that one of his students has neglected to adhere to certain key doctrines or makes decisions which can only be the result of a very careless and therefore faulty rational calculus, he might decide to deter the wayward student from further mistakes through a display of his own anger. That the Philodemean sage can feel anger when one of his friends acts foolishly, even though this does not harm the sage himself, is beyond any doubt. Philodemus explicitly mentions this particular point:35 γί[νονται μ]ὲν οὖ[ν] περὶ τοὺς ἀγαθοὺς ὀργαί, κἂν εἰς τοὺς φίλους ἁμάρτῃ τις, κἂν εἰς ἑαυτὸν φίλος πληνμελήσῃ, τοῖς ὅλοις εἰς αὐτὸν οὔτε διειλημμένως οὔτε ἀδιαλήπτως καινοῦ κακοῦ προσδοκωμένου καταντήσειν.

34 Ira 2.6–15. 35 Ira 41.17–25; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020).

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so, then, fits of anger do happen in the cases of good men, both whenever someone wrongs their friends and whenever a friend has behaved badly to his own loss, even when no fresh ill is either distinctly or indistinctly expected to occur to him personally. Although the Epicurean sage is, above all, concerned with his own pleasure, he cares deeply about his friends, who are, after all, crucial for his own sense of security and happiness, as we have seen in chapter three. If the sage would only become angry when he is personally harmed, the idea of deriving personal security from a close circle of friends would be untenable, as none of them would feel an emotional inclination to come to each other’s aid, unless the group were harmed collectively.36 Similarly, the sage will feel anger when one of his friends is harmed by his own foolishness. This scenario is, in all likelihood, applicable to the case of the sage’s students, who are still likely to stray from the Epicurean path every now and then, harming themselves in the process, and whom the sage would like to turn into real Epicurean friends. If they harm themselves by acting in an un-Epicurean way, they inadvertently move further away from being proper Epicurean friends to the sage, who genuinely cares about their wellbeing.37 Hence, the sage is fully entitled to get angry at them. 6.2.2 Feigned Anger? The enticing question here is whether it would not be more opportune for the sage, who is, after all, not directly harmed by the student’s moral vacillations, not even to subject himself to the mildly painful emotion that natural anger is. For someone who is so deeply concerned with his own ataractic state and the avoidance of painful sensations, it might seem tempting to keep his calm and to merely feign anger towards the student, for the express purpose of enhancing the pedagogical effectiveness of his frank criticism.

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Of course, one might argue that the Epicurean’s decision to aid his friend is a calculated move, which he can make purely on the basis of a rational evaluation of the effort involved in helping the other and the future benefits he might miss in case he decides not to do so. Although a rational calculus will most definitely play its role, this interpretation of Epicurean friendship overlooks the fact that even the sage will experience an inevitable bite of pain when he learns that a person who greatly contributes to his own happiness is being harmed. Rationality, then, will confirm that it is, indeed, appropriate to feel anger when someone is harming a person from whom one may hope to derive even more pleasure in the future. See section 4.2.3 on the sage’s concern for his students.

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Voula Tsouna and Sean McConnell claim that this is precisely what the wise Epicurean will do in certain situations.38 Especially McConnell argues at great length in favor of the thesis that the sage will have little qualms about feigning emotions in a somewhat manipulative way if this allows him to set his students straight in the most efficient way and without causing disturbance to his own tranquility. The sage will, therefore, feign kindness when he judges that his students will respond better to a soft approach, or anger when he believes a harsh reproach is in order. Philodemus’ De libertate dicendi offers ample evidence that being an Epicurean teacher does not only require one to have a thorough knowledge of the doctrine one is going to teach, but also to reflect carefully upon the most suitable ways to convey this message of Epicurean salvation to one’s students.39 To achieve the most effective form of Epicurean education, the teacher has to take into account the characteristics of his students, meaning that he has to know them well enough to predict how they will react to different styles of teaching, especially when it comes to the administration of unpleasant criticisms. This means that he will sometimes try to sugarcoat the harsh message a little bit, lest the rebuked student get the false impression that the sage no longer feels affection for him. Departing from this premise, McConnell proceeds to argue in favor of the stronger thesis that the sage will, in fact, feign emotions which he does not really feel. McConnell claims that four situations are possible with regard to the sage’s anger: (1) (2) (3) (4)

The sage is angry and appears angry. The sage is angry, but does not appear angry. The sage is neither angry, nor does he appear to be. The sage is not angry, but appears to be.

The first option is in line with the sage’s normal response to intentional harm. He feels a bite of natural anger and has decided upon careful assessment of all relevant factors that anger is in order as it is likely to effectively remedy the precariousness of his situation. The third option is equally straightforward. If the sage has not been harmed in a significant way, he obviously has no reason to feel or express anger. The second and the fourth option, however, are somewhat more problematic. Will the sage really feign anger when he does not feel it and will he feign kindness when he is, in fact, angry? In other words, will he either simulate or dissimulate anger whenever it suits his goals? 38 Tsouna (2007), 47; McConnell (2015), 123–124. Sorabji (2000), 192 and Annas (1993), 199 argue to more or less the same effect. See Armstrong (2008), 84–88 for a rebuttal of Annas’ position. 39 See e.g. Lib. dic. fr 7; 14; 60.

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The problem with McConnell’s and Tsouna’s suggestion that the sage will feign anger in a pedagogical context concerns the text passage upon which they both base this thesis. Both refer to De ira 34.16–22:40 [… ἐὰν τοὺς ἀοργήτους ὁμοίους ὁρῶ]μεν ὀργίλοις, [ἰστ]έον ὅτι χωρὶς αὐ[τοῦ τοῦ] πάθους καὶ τῆς δια[θ]έσεως καὶ [τ]ῶν ὅσα παρ᾿ αὐτοὺς διὰ ταῦτα γίνεται [τ]ἄλλα πάντα ὅσων ἐποιησάμεθα τὴν ἔκθεσιν. [… if we see those who are not irascible being like] the irascible, we must know that all the other things whose description we have set out occur without the emotion itself, the disposition, and all the things that are up to them personally because of those things (i.e., the emotion and disposition). The first lines of this passage, which follows after a section of nine lines that have been completely lost, have been heavily restored. Fortunately, the rest of the column is fairly well-preserved, which allows us to conclude that Philodemus is now addressing the issue of sages who get angry at their students. In what follows, he provides a lengthy rebuttal of the claim that some sages, including Epicurus himself, might have displayed irascibility in their dealings with wayward students. Philodemus’ defense is built around the argument that these sages might appear irascible, but that they are, in reality, merely angry in a natural way, which is, as we have seen, very much appropriate for the sage. This apologetic strategy with regard to the impression that the sage is irascible will be discussed in greater detail in the next chapter. For our present argument, it suffices to keep in mind that Philodemus’ line of reasoning aims to distinguish irascibility, which entails empty anger, from the sage’s actual display of appropriate natural anger. This is, in fact, where Tsouna’s and McConnell’s thesis starts to totter. Contrary to what they suggest, Philodemus is not saying that the sage appears angry, but in fact is not. Rather, he says that the sage appears irascible, while, in truth, he is just experiencing legitimate natural anger.41 Philodemus’ usage of the term ὀργίλος does not usually refer to someone who merely feels unavoidable impulses towards natural anger, but to the type of person whose disposition is always inclined towards anger, even in those cases when there is no sound reason for it.42 Naturally, Philodemus would want to 40 Transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020). 41 Moreover, in Ira 36.17–28, Philodemus indicates that the sage’s angry behavior in educational contexts is directly connected to his innate propensity towards natural anger. This passage highlights that the sage’s apparent irascibility and the harshness of his frank speech are the products of his real natural anger. 42 Cf. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 269, n.174.

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set the sage apart from this type of vice-plagued person, especially if some people erroneously fail to apply this important distinction. The sage may appear irascible, but his angry behavior is not motivated by an irascible disposition or its characteristic emotion of empty anger.43 Instead, he simply feels natural anger, which is perfectly appropriate for a wise person like himself. The sage’s anger in this passage, then, is definitely not feigned. There is, in fact, nothing in this passage which suggests that the sage might deliberately take on the appearance of being angry while he is not.44 The problem which Philodemus addresses is merely that some people misidentify the sage’s real natural anger for empty anger, which would, of course, be at odds with the sage’s perfectly equilibrated mental disposition. 6.2.3 Feigned Kindness? Will the sage feign kindness, then, as McConnell suggests? The sage will, undoubtedly, tailor his style of frank speech to his students’ needs and deliver his criticisms in a more gentle way if he judges that this would prove more effective for a specific student. Yet, does this really mean that he will feign kindness, while he is, in fact, feeling anger? First of all, a terminological issue should be addressed. McConnell discusses what he considers to be the sage’s feigned anger and feigned kindness as two parallel instances of feigned emotions.45 Yet, although anger is, without any doubt, an emotion, it remains to be seen if kindness deserves that same label. It is, perhaps, significative that McConnell never references a specific Greek term when he talks about Epicurean ‘kindness’. There are a number of concepts from Epicurean texts to which he refers in order to establish that the sage is benevolent, gentle, and amiable, but none 43

When Philodemus says that the angry sage acts χωρὶς αὐτοῦ πάθους καὶ τῆς διαθέσεως, he means the πάθος and the διάθεσις of the ὀργίλοι, whom he just mentioned. 44 The idea that the sage might sometimes find it useful and even necessary to feign anger was, in fact, voiced by the Stoic Panaetius. In a Stoic context, this makes sense: it might sometimes be useful to deter others through a display of anger, but the Stoic sage will never allow himself to experience feel the emotion itself. Interestingly, Panaetius adds that the sage uses even this feigned anger only in exceptional circumstances and with great reluctance (Cic., Off. 1.136). Fake anger, then, makes perfect sense in a philosophy which requires the sage to avoid the real thing. Philodemus, on the other hand, argues at great length against Nicasicrates and the Stoics that the sage does not try to avoid natural anger, which is, in fact, both inevitable and appropriate for him. 45 E.g. McConnell (2015), 125: ‘Now, it is clear that one might feign emotions such as anger and kindness as an expedient tactic to manipulate students for one’s own ends. (…) As such, even when feigning emotions such as anger and kindness, it appears that the Epicurean teacher is still, ultimately motivated to educate others solely for their own well-being – he is merely adopting the best means to that end’.

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of these can unambiguously be equaled to a supposed emotion of ‘kindness’. Textual evidence mentions the sage’s considerateness (εὐγνωμοσύνη),46 his beneficence (εὐποιία),47 his love of people (φιλανθρωπία),48 his profound commitment to friendship (φιλία)49 and even the fact that his διάθεσις is cheerful (εὐήμερος), affectionate towards his friends (φιλόφιλος) and gentle (ἤπια).50 All of this illustrates the obvious fact that the sage acts in a way that could justifiably be defined as kind, even if kindness seems to be something of a blanket term for a whole range of positive virtues and attitudes. There is, however, no indication that the sage’s ‘kindness’ or, more accurately, its documented ancient Greek components, were viewed as a πάθος. They are virtues which help the sage achieve his ultimate goal of living happily, or attitudes which accompany these virtues. We know, however, that the sage feels gratitude (χάρις) towards those who treat him well, which is indeed very much a πάθος.51 It is felt in response to external factors and stimulates the sage to reciprocate someone else’s friendliness and to bestow favors upon them whenever he has the chance to do so. Philodemus presents it as the mirror emotion to anger: whereas the latter is experienced in response to intentional harm and/or the prospect of harm, the former arises from the perception that someone else is causing him to feel pleasure and/or the prospect of being treated in a pleasurable way by someone. ‘Kindness’, as described by McConnell, is, at any rate, not an emotion in ancient Greek thought. At best, the sage’s kind actions are prompted by feelings of φιλία towards others.52 When the sage uses either kind or harsh words to convey his frank criticism, this ‘kindness’ only pertains to a functional rhetorical choice. It does not tell us anything about the emotion which prompts it, nor does it require the sage to feign anything. If the sage notices that his student, for whom he feels affection, harms himself through neglect of some important doctrinal point, he experiences the πάθος of natural anger. Yet, that 46 47 48 49 50

D.L. 10.9. D.L. 10.10. D.L. 10.10; Phld., Elect. et fugae 14.6. E.g. KD 27 and 28. Phld., Lib. dic. fr. 85.5–10. Additionally, there is the term φιλοφροσύνη (friendliness), used by Philodemus in Lib. dic. fr. 60.11–12 to describe the manipulative friendliness of charlatans (γόητες ἄνθρωποι). 51 On Epicurean gratitude, see DeWitt (1937); Konstan (2006), 165–166; Rider (2019). 52 In this sense, φιλία is to be interpreted as ‘affection’ or ‘(non-erotic) love’, rather than the social construction of ‘friendship’, which is, of course, not a πάθος. See also Konstan (2006), 156–168 on gratitude and how it differs from the modern notion of ‘kindness’. See, especially, Konstan (2006), 163: ‘Performing a kindness is not an emotion; neither is kindliness for that matter. If a favour were to be prompted by an emotion, the relevant pathos would be love or philia’.

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does not mean that he no longer feels φιλία for this person. If affection and anger were mutually exclusive concepts, a parent who scolds his or her child would temporarily cease to love that child whenever it misbehaves. In other words, if a mother notices that her son steals cookies from the cookie jar, the only thing that keeps her from striking him dead on the spot would, along such lines, be the fact that the law forbids her from doing so, considering that the offending child would, at least at that specific moment, have become nothing more than an annoying presence. This would, of course, be absurd. It is precisely the affection (φιλία in the case of the sage and his friends/students and φιλοστοργία in the case of the mother and her son) which causes one to feel anger when someone acts in a way that only damages themselves. The sage, then, gets righteously angry when he sees that his student goes astray, but this does not for a minute keep him from feeling affection for this person whom he is helping to become a true Epicurean friend and towards whom he experiences χάρις in response to the pleasant conviviality at those moments when the student successfully adheres to the prescriptions of Epicurean doctrine.53 Depending on the student’s character traits, the sage may choose to adapt the way in which he delivers his rebuke. He may opt to soften the outward presentation of his genuinely felt anger with a speaking style that reflects his genuinely felt affection. At other times, he may choose to speak more harshly, if he judges that the other does not really need to be reminded of his affection towards him and/or if he has good reason to believe that this person will take the criticism better to heart if it is delivered in a more direct way. 6.2.4 Is There Room for Feigned Anger in Epicurean Ethics? Even if there is no direct textual evidence to support the hypothesis that the sage might sometimes see fit to feign anger, it may still be interesting to explore whether or not such a thing would really fit into Philodemus’ ethical framework. In my view, it does not, as I will demonstrate in what follows. Philodemus explicitly states that the sage may feel natural anger in three cases: (1) he suffers from intentional harm or expects to suffer from it, (2) one or more of his friends suffer from intentional harm or are threatened by it, (3) one of his friends harms himself without inflicting direct harm to the sage. To this 53 Moreover, he may be compelled to feel συμπαθία for his student when the latter falls prey to undesirable emotions and vices due to the fact that his ability to be an untroubled Epicurean friend at all times is not yet completely developed. See section 4.2.3 for the sage’s συμπάθεια.

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we may probably add a fourth option: (4) one of his friends harms himself and directly harms the sage in the process.54 Is there a situation imaginable in which none of these conditions are fulfilled, but in which the sage still considers it useful to behave as if he were angry? We should, first of all, bear in mind that the sage’s angry response is supposed to serve a distinct purpose. With it, he aims to change things in a way that suits his own desire for tranquility and happiness and which enhances his chances of maintaining this blissful state. The sage will not allow himself to get angry if doing so is unlikely to have the desired effect. Anger is, after all, a painful affair, even if it is anger of the natural sort, which causes only a minor disturbance, compared to empty anger. One might say that this element of pain and disturbance is taken out of the equation altogether in the case of feigned anger. The sage, then, can behave as angrily as he likes, scaring the hell out of the people whom he is dealing with, while on the inside, he remains completely calm. Yet, what purpose would it serve to do this? If he is really harmed or if his friends harm themselves, he feels real anger. He cannot feign an emotion if he is already experiencing the real thing.55 Although the sage’s capacity for emotional self-control is greatly 54

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The friend might, for example, experience a moment of weakness and give in to his irascible impulses in his dealings with the sage. In that case, the friend harms both himself (empty anger causes painful disturbances to one’s mental state) and his friend the sage (he might, for example, punch the sage or throw some object at him, leading to real physical pain). Of course, it remains to be seen exactly to what extent the sage would be willing to stay friends with a person who deliberately harms him in such a way, even if he does so in a fit of irrational rage and will regret his actions as soon as he calms down again. There are, however, situations imaginable in which matters are not so clear. Philodemus’ sage is, as a rule, a teacher of rational adults. If his students make a serious mistake, he will feel real anger. If their mistake is not serious enough to make the sage angry, he can calmly admonish them and set their faulty behavior and its potential consequences for their eyes. As rational human beings, they are likely to respond to this approach, without the need for feigned anger. Yet, if the sage were to find himself responsible for the education of small children, he might have to rethink some of his methods. A mother does not necessarily feel anger when her child steals a freshly baked cookie in a comically circumspect way. Yet, for the sake of pedagogical consistency, she will, in all likelihood, try to hide her amusement and will pretend to be angry, in order to convince the child that its action was wrong. Although the sage is not typically expected to have children, the Epicureans acknowledged that some sages might choose to marry (D.L. 10.119) and it is not unthinkable that this occasionally resulted in parenthood. Of course, it is likely that the sage would simply leave all educational tasks to someone else, only to step in when the child has grown old enough to start his philosophical training. Yet, let us, for the sake of argument, assume that our particular sage is forced to raise the child on his own. How, then, will the sage react when his toddler plunders the cookie jar? Stealing a cookie may be an error, but it is a relatively harmless one and seems, as such, unlikely to provoke the sage

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superior to that of the average person, even he cannot avoid natural bites of anger whenever the conditions for anger are met. Of course, he can choose not to act upon that anger, but, as we have seen earlier in this chapter, the Epicurean sage’s management of emotions does not happen through some feat of almost super-human willpower. If the natural impulse towards an emotion arises in response to certain circumstances, the sage does not simply ‘decide’ not to feel anything. He has to use reason to accomplish this. In the same way in which Epicureanism’s core doctrines offer rational arguments to demonstrate why it is unnecessary to fear death or divine punishment, the sage has to use his rational capacities to convince himself that a certain situation does not require an angry response. If the natural impulse towards anger is there, and if he has sound reason to believe that an angry response will effectively remove to natural anger. It is, nevertheless, important that the sage intervene, lest the child start to think that stealing is a worthwhile activity. The sage could try to state that stealing is highly undesirable and then offer the toddler an elaborate overview of the mental disposition of thieves, the vices that afflict them, and the expectable consequences for the thief’s chances of ever achieving the Epicurean ideal of the happy life. If he is lucky, the child will try to listen and then doze off after a couple of minutes. If he is unlucky, it will grow bored and either wander off and/or throw a tantrum when the sage tries to prevent this. In sum, the calm and reasonable approach is not very likely to prove effective in the case of very small children. Would the sage, then, be tempted to feign anger after all? This is, obviously, highly speculative territory, as it is very unlikely that Philodemus ever considered this specific situation. It is, however, interesting to investigate whether or not the sage might still have the possibility to rectify his child’s behavior without having to feign anger. A useful question would perhaps be whether the sage’s assessment of the seemingly comical situation of a toddler who steals a cookie might not differ from ours. The sage’s rational appraisal of vices and virtues might enable him to consider the child’s misdeed for what it really is: a symptom of a serious flaw in the toddler’s still underdeveloped mental disposition. In his view, this flaw should be rectified instantly, lest it ruin the child’s chances of future happiness. Our modern-day mother, who views the situation as too funny to become angry knows on a rational level that she ought to be angry. Therefore, she feigns anger for pedagogical purposes. The sage, on the other hand, who possesses a superior grasp of the human psyche, may immediately see the child’s error as something that will become profoundly harmful if it remains uncorrected. As a result, he might feel real natural anger. Rather than a comical attempt at cookie-theft, he will see a beloved person who is in the process of causing future harm to himself. The misstep itself may appear to be absurdly trivial, but the potential consequences for the child’s further development could be sufficient reason for an outburst of real anger. If we follow this line of reasoning, the sage does not need to feign anger, because he already feels the real emotion in those situations in which an ordinary parent might not. As I pointed out above, this is of course a very tentative solution to a highly hypothetical situation. It is probably safe to say that, as far as Philodemus was concerned, the sage would only have to correct the errors of wayward adults and would be spared the more daunting task of having to sort out a toddler’s muddled διάθεσις.

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the threat which caused his bite of anger to manifest itself, he cannot simply choose to suppress the emotion itself, only to feign it in his subsequent actions. A rational calculus on anger will address the question ‘is the situation a sufficient cause for anger (i.e. have I been harmed significantly and intentionally) and will anger effectively resolve the situation?’. If the answer to this twofold question is ‘Yes’, the sage will embrace his natural anger and act upon it. It is a simple Yes/No-question, and as such, it does not leave room for a shrewd answer along the lines of ‘Yes, anger is called for and will prove effective, but perhaps we can trick ourselves into believing that we should not be angry and then fake anger anyway, because, contrary to what we told ourselves, an angry response is really necessary’. As clever as such a solution might at first glance seem, the sage’s rational calculus deals with criteria of truth and the truthful assessment thereof. If he were to engage in this type of doublethink, he would actively be trying to tamper with his own rationality and to insert false suppositions into his rational process, in order to get the desired result. Clearly, Epicurus’ rational approach and his commitment to the rebuttal of false suppositions and sophistic tricks does not allow for this kind of mental tinkering. On the other hand, if the sage does not have a natural impulse towards anger or if his rationality does not discern a good reason to embrace anger, what might he hope to gain with a display of feigned anger? In that case he either has nothing to be angry about or no possibility to achieve anything useful with anger. If he feigns anger when nobody is trying to harm him, his false anger might not hurt him, but there is a good chance that his angry behavior towards people who do not deserve to be treated this way will get him into trouble. If there is, however, an actual wrongdoer involved, but getting angry at that person will not avail to anything, why would the sage simulate anger, which will be equally ineffective? It might do him more harm than good. And even if it changes nothing to his situation, it still remains to be seen if the sage would actually be able to calm himself down, convincing himself with rational arguments that anger is uncalled for, only to put up a charade of the very emotion which he just assuaged with his reasoning. 6.2.5 Conclusion All things considered, then, there is no hard evidence to support the thesis that Philodemus endorses the view that the sage may actually feign emotions whenever it suits him to do so. Neither does the fact that the sage tailors the phrasing and tone of his frank speech to the needs and character traits of his students imply that he will ever feign emotions which he does not really feel. The Epicurean might be a smart teacher, who knows that one and the same message can be delivered in a variety of ways, but nothing indicates that

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Philodemus believes that the sage will sometimes be insincere. In sum, fake anger (or any other fake emotion for that matter) does not seem to have a place within the Epicurean’s array of emotions, as presented by Philodemus. As far as we can tell from the latter’s remarks on natural anger, the sage does not have the need or inclination to feign emotions when they are not called for, nor is he likely to tamper with the proper course of his rational calculus so as to be able to fake anger when real anger is warranted. To answer the central question of this chapter: No, as a rule, Philodemus’ sage will not feign emotions, as it is, generally, neither necessary, nor advantageous to pretend to feel anything else than his actual emotions.56 6.3

Will the Sage Become Drunk?

In the lengthy final section of De ira, Philodemus has to defend his conceptualization of the sage against other Epicureans who claim that the sage is not only prone to brief and moderate spells of natural anger, but in certain situations even to outbursts of rage. Philodemus responds to three arguments that are used by his opponents, to whom Armstrong and McOsker refer as ‘Maximalists’,57 who claim that the sage can become enraged. For our present purpose, the second argument is of special interest, as it goes beyond the matter of anger itself, touching upon the issue of drunkenness.58 The passage reads as follows:59 ὥσπερ τε πολ[λο]ῖς περιπεσόντες, ὅτ[α]ν οἶνο[ν] προσενέγκωνται, μεθυσκομένοις – [οὐ] μόνον ἄφροσιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ συνετοῖς, καὶ οὐ μᾶλλ[ον ἐ]κείνοις ἢ τούτοις – καταλαμβάνομεν ὅτ[ι] τὸ μεθύειν ο[ὐ] συμβαίν[ει] πα[ρ᾿] ἀλογιστίαν, ἀλλά, κἂν [οἱ] σοφ[οὶ μεθύωσι, π]αρὰ [σοφίαν]

56 I do not rule out that scenarios might be imaginable in which it might be problematic for the sage to choose an unambiguous commitment to his sincere emotions above an opportunistic attempt to make the other believe that his anger is greater than it actually is. Be that as it may, I maintain that Philodemus does not envisage such scenarios in the extant passages of his works. 57 Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 77–80. 58 The connection between anger and drunkenness is by no means novel: see, for example, Aristotle, who considers actions taken while enraged or drunk to be examples of actions taken in ignorance (ἄγνοια) (EN 1110b24–27). 59 Ira 46.40–47.9; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020).

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And, because we have encountered many men, who, whenever they take wine, get drunk – not just fools, but also intelligent men, and the latter no less than the former – we understand that their drunkenness happens not because of irrationality, but, whenever even the sag[es are drunk] because [of wisdom] Based on their observation that many intelligent people will get drunk when they drink wine, the Maximalists feel justified in deducing that the sage must also conform to this general rule. The main analogy here is that, if both foolish and intelligent people can become drunk, thus losing rational control of their passions and actions, then the same may apply to becoming enraged in response to some sort of serious harm. This connection between immoderate anger and drunkenness is certainly not unparalleled in Epicureanism. Lucretius’ account in DRN 3.476–483 shows that the Epicureans believed that wine physically affects the atomic constitution of the mind through the element of heat:60 Denique cur, hominem cum vini vis penetravit // acris et in venas discessit diditus ardor, // consequitur gravitas membrorum, praepediuntur // crura vacillanti, tardescit lingua, madet mens, // nant oculi, clamor singultus iurgia gliscunt, // et iam cetera de genere hoc quaecumque sequuntur, // cur ea sunt, nisi quod vemens violentia vini // conturbare animam consuevit corpore in ipso? Again, when the piercing potency of wine has penetrated into people, and its warmth has been distributed and channeled into the veins, the limbs become heavy; they reel about with staggering steps; the tongue drawls, the mind is sodden, and the eyes swim; they bawl, belch, and brawl more and more violently. What is the reason for these and all the other symptoms of drunkenness, if it is not that the potent punch of the wine invariably has the effect of confounding the spirit within the body?

60 Transl. Smith (2001). Additional evidence can be found in Plut. Adv. Col. 1109EF, where a brief fragment from Epicurus’ Symposium is preserved. In this passage, Polyaenus asks Epicurus about the heating effect of wine, to which Epicurus answers that wine can indeed generate heat, depending on its quantity and the comparative tolerance of the person who drinks it. He adds that, for some people, and in some situations, it can even have a cooling effect, as we may, for example, imagine to be the case when we drink a moderate amount of well chilled white wine or rosé on a hot summer day.

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Lucretius also shows that the element of heat is dominant in aggressive animals and irascible human personalities.61 In light of this physical likeness between both processes, it should be no surprise that anger as well as intoxication can sometimes lead to μανία.62 Philodemus also seems to accept this correlation, and therefore, at least to a certain extent, the validity of the Maximalist analogy.63 Considering Philodemus’ conviction that the sage cannot truly become enraged, it is reasonable to presume that he will also answer to the claim of these Maximalists that the sage will not become drunk either, or, at least not in the way that is intended by his opponents:64 And it is obvious what one must say against the next (argument), changing the argument only in the manner of handling it. Indeed, one should consider the next argument simply wretched. For concerning the claim that the wise man, too, will get drunk, if they mean Epicurus’s circle used (the argument) that intelli[gent] people, too, (will get drunk), they are talking [no]nsense; but if they mean themselves, it is obvious from the following (considerations) that they are reasoning about that man (sc. the sage) illegitimately (περί τε γὰρ τοῦ μεθυσθήσεσθαι καὶ τὸν σοφὸν, εἰ μὲν ἀποφαίνονται τοὺς περὶ τὸν Ἐπίκουρον κ[ε]χρῆσθαι τῶι καὶ τοὺς χα[ρ]ίεν[τας, φλ]υαροῦσιν· εἰ δ᾿ ἑα[υ]τούς, ἀτόπως περὶ ἐκείνου φ[ανερὸ]ν ἐκ τούτων συλλογίζ[ε]σ[θ]αι·): by proceeding in a similar way, someone will demonstrate that he (sc. the sage) will be anxious for glory, will fall in love, and will be afflicted by innumerable other passions, if indeed others among highly intelligent men (τῶν [πά]νυ χα[ριέν]τω[ν]) are constantly have troubles (like those?) … [four lines missing] … getting drunk  … is easy, and it is necessary to accept that “the sage is more liable than some unthinking people to fall into fits of anger” and that “he suffers this no less than fools, since he gets drunk no less than they do”, in the sense they are using “be drunk” (καὶ τὸν σοφὸν προσδε[κ]τέον εὐεμπτωτότερον ἐνίων ἀλογίστων

61 DRN 3.294–298. 62 See Chandler (2018), 469–470. See also Plut., Garr. 503DE: ‘For while, according to some, anger lives next door to madness, drunkenness lives in the same house with it; or rather, drunkenness is madness, shorter in duration, but more culpable, because the will also is involved in it’ (transl. Helmbold (1939)). 63 Cf. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 305, n. 222: ‘Here, too, Philodemus agrees with his opponents: that the wise man can in some sense get drunk is analogous to his being in some sense capable of anger’. 64 Ira 48.33–49.26; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020).

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εἰς τὰς ὀργὰς ὑπάρχειν. καὶ τὸ μὴ τῶν ἀφρόνων ἧττον τοῦτο πάσχειν, ἐπειδήπερ οὐχ ἧττον αὐτῶν μεθύσκεται, καθὸ λέ[γ]εται μεθύειν). Interesting is that this internal discussion among Epicureans can be considered against the backdrop of a much larger ongoing (philosophical) debate about drunkenness, on which Seneca and Philo of Alexandria are two of our most important sources.65 The central question is the following: μεθυσθήσεται ὁ σοφός; (‘Will the wise man get drunk?’).66 Considering that this seems to be a fairly simple, yet longstanding question, one would expect Epicurus himself to have provided an equally straightforward answer to it. If we are to believe Diogenes Laertius’ report, then, indeed, Epicurus seems to have given the matter some thought, coming up with the following answer:67 Οὐδὲ μὴν ληρήσειν ἐν μέθῃ φησὶν ὁ Ἐπίκουρος ἐν τῷ Συμποσίῳ. Although, prima facie, this seems indeed a rather clear-cut answer, formulated in Epicurus’ typical qualifying style,68 it still leaves quite a bit of room for misunderstanding, as we will see in what follows. In De agricultura Noë, Philo points out an important problem with the reception of texts about drunkenness. He argues at length that the usage of the words μεθύειν, μέθυ, and, presumably, also that of μέθη, has changed over time.69 The latter two used to refer to strong drink, and the former to being filled with strong drink, meaning that, originally, neither term made explicit claims about the drinker’s degree of intoxication. Philo’s hypothesis is that in response to the question μεθυσθήσεται ὁ σοφός, Greek speakers of a couple of centuries ago would most definitely have offered an affirmative answer, with which they would mean that the sage will, indeed, partake in drinking wine. Whether, in so doing, he will also become drunk, is yet another matter, to which the answer of the ancients would perhaps be considerably less affirmative. Interestingly, Philodemus also seems to have thought that the entire debate had been contaminated by semantic shifts regarding some key terms. As an Epicurean, of course, he describes this in terms of πρόληψις. He points out that 65 Especially Sen., Ep. 83 and Philo, De agricultura Noë and De ebrietate. See also Athen., Deipn. 2.36–41. 66 For the Stoic attempts to formulate an answer to this question, see the detailed discussion in Bénatouïl (2006), 279–324. 67 D.L. 10.119. 68 See Roskam (2007a), 148 and passim. 69 Philo, Agr. 150–161.

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the wider discussion on anger and rage, of which the issue of the sage’s alleged drunkenness is only a smaller part, rests upon a semantic shift which has, apparently, taken place somewhere between Epicurus’ age and Philodemus’ own time, and which has, clearly, not been recognized by the Maximalists. Crucial here is the use of the term θύμος and its derivative verb θυμωθήσεσθαι. In the Epicurean terminology of Philodemus and his Maximalist opponents, these are connected to the πρόληψις of actual, uncontrolled rage, which is always bad in Philodemus’ view, whereas ὀργή can also refer to natural anger. For Epicurus and his contemporaries, however, the term θυμωθήσεσθαι was connected to a more general (κατὰ τὴν κοινοτέραν) πρόληψις of anger, which included, no doubt, the notion of natural anger, and is as such appropriate for the sage as well. Philodemus is aware of the semantic shift and takes this into account when he reads Epicurus’ claim that θυμωθήσεσθαι τὸν σοφόν, whereas the Maximalists ignore this important factor, reading and interpreting the same passage as if it were written in their own time, rather than several centuries ago. By the same token, Philodemus could believe that the Maximalists made the same mistake when it comes to Epicurus’ statement that the sage will not ληρεῖν ἐν μέθῃ. If so, then they may have thought that Epicurus confirms that the sage will sometimes find himself in a state of actual drunkenness, but that he will, somehow, be able not to make a fool of himself while profoundly intoxicated. Philodemus ends his refutation of the Maximalist argument regarding drunkenness with the sarcastic admission, that, indeed, one will have to attribute all kinds of things to the sage, including his ability to get as drunk as the fool, provided that the Maximalists’ interpretation of the relevant terminology is followed (καθὸ λέγεται μεθύειν).70 Unfortunately, a few lines are missing at the beginning of this section. Yet, it may well be possible that Philodemus might be accusing his opponents of consistently misreading Epicurus’ own claims about μεθύειν as references to real drunkenness, rather than to tipsiness, or even the mere consumption of wine.71 Let us now return to the question μεθυσθήσεται ὁ σοφός; itself. There are, all things considered, five possible answers to this question: (A) The sage will indulge in heavy drinking and will sometimes get as profoundly drunk as the fool. 70 Phld., Ira 49.18–26. 71 Delattre (2009), 82–83 also suggests that the infinitive μεθυσθήσεσθαι might in itself have been a complicating factor in the whole debate, since both the verb μεθύω and its much stronger cognate μεθύσκομαι use that same form as their future infinitive. Philodemus is clearly well aware of the ambiguity, and capitalizes upon it in his reductio ad absurdum in Ira 49.24–26.

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(B) The sage will drink excessively, but will somehow retain his usual character traits. He will continue to act rationally and virtuously, and will only become more cheerful than usual. (C) The sage will drink, and will sometimes even drink enough to lose his soberness. He will get tipsy when the occasion requires him to drink that much, but beyond that point he will never venture. Hence, he retains his rationality at all times. (D) The sage will drink, but not excessively. He becomes neither drunk, nor tipsy. Hence, he retains his rationality. (E) The sage will not drink at all. Thus, he avoids all degrees of intoxication. Obviously, option (A) is completely inacceptable for Philodemus: if the sage completely loses his rationality and falls into a state of μανία, in exactly the same way as the fool, then, clearly, he hardly even qualifies as a sage to begin with. Moreover, despite Philodemus’ reductio ad absurdum regarding the claims of his opponents, I strongly suspect that they, too, would reject this option, as it entails ληρεῖν, which Epicurus himself explicitly condemned. On the other end of the spectrum, there is option (E), prescribing complete abstinence. Although one suspects that this was not exactly the most popular position in antiquity, it seems to have had some dedicated defenders all the same. Philo reports that some people believe strong drink to be productive of sin,72 and even a sort of poison, potentially leading to μανία.73 According to some of these thinkers, the wise man would rather die than to take something that might make him lose his rationality.74 Although Epicurus would no doubt commend these persons’ commitment to their rationality, there are no indications that orthodox Epicureans would actively advocate this extreme position. Clearly, it is not inappropriate for Epicurus’ sage to drink wine, as both Philodemus and the Maximalists will agree.75 72 Philo, Agr. 143. 73 Philo, Agr. 147: ‘No more would a wise man take a deadly poison, unless the crisis were such as absolutely to compel him to depart from life as though he were leaving his country. And strong drink is a poison bringing about not death indeed but madness’. (Transl. Colson – Whitaker (1930)). Epictetus also pairs up μανία and wine as the joint cause of the extreme frenzy that compels the priests of Cybele to mutilate themselves (Epict., Diss. 2.20.18). 74 Philo, Agr. 147. This is, of course, a bold and, above all, highly provocative claim. Epictetus notes how some people seem to restrict themselves to drinking water, only to be able to brag about it (Epict., Diss. 3.14.4–6; cf. Ench. 47). 75 Metrodorus even says that, together with eating, drinking wine is to be preferred to saving the fatherland: Plut., Non posse 1098CD; 1100D; Adv. Col. 1125D; cf. Roskam (2007b), 111.

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Options (B), (C), and (D) are more interesting for the present argument. They all accept that the sage will drink alcohol. The question is how much, and, more importantly, how sober he will remain. Option (B) may more or less be what the Maximalists envisage: in the same way that the sage can become intemperately enraged, he will also become intemperately drunk. Yet, and this is important if the Maximalists want to remain able to claim orthodoxy, the wise man may not react to his drunkenness in the same way as the fool: ληρεῖν is the one thing he must definitely not do. This position also seems to have had its fair share of defenders. In their view, the sage’s typical sensibility provides him with some sort of armor, and in the same way that it safeguards him from immoderate passions, it also shields him from the less desirable effects of wine’s inherent heat.76 Drunkenness does not create vice, but merely shows what is already there.77 The sage, then, in whom no vice can be found anyway, is merely rendered somewhat more cheerful and outgoing than usual.78 Obviously, this kind of conceptualizing of a freely carousing sage who matches every single man at the symposium cup for cup, while remaining seemingly unaffected, is heavily indebted to Socrates’ almost legendary capacities as a symposiast.79 From a thoroughly materialistic Epicurean point of view, however, the discrepancy between the sage’s physical drunkenness, on one hand, and his mental soberness, on the other, is rather problematic. As Philodemus, no doubt, acknowledged, an orthodox Epicurean can hardly claim that the sage can indulge in heavy drinking, while remaining impervious to intoxication. As a materialist, he has to acknowledge that the consumption of alcohol introduces an extra element of heat into our bodies, which inevitably wreaks havoc Of course, that does not necessarily mean that every Epicurean will drink wine. Caesar’s murderer Cassius, for example, who reportedly converted to Epicureanism a few years before his death, drank only water (Sen., Ep. 83.12). Yet, this seems to have been his custom throughout his adult life, which means that his abstinence was no consequence of his Epicurean sympathies, although, of course, both these life choices were, in all likelihood, motivated by one and the same lifelong wish to pursue a sort of life that transcends irrational dependencies. 76 Philo, Agr. 144ff. 77 Cf. Sen., Ep. 83.20: Non facit ebrietas vitia, sed protrahit. 78 Philo, Agr. 166–167; 170–171. 79 Arguably the famous example thereof can be found in the final paragraphs of Plato’s Symposium, where we read how, despite having consumed large quantities of wine, Socrates spends the entire night arguing and drinking with the few other banqueteers who had not yet slipped into a drunken slumber. Eventually, dawn breaks, upon which point he just walks out the door and starts the new day as if the symposium had not happened at all (Symp. 223BD).

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upon our atomic constitutions. If an Epicurean were to claim that the sage can somehow render his atomic constitution invulnerable against such external influences, he might as well make the absurd claim that the wise man is immortal as well.80 Although we control our διάθεσις in the sense that we ourselves decide how we deal with situations and emotions, there is little that we can do about physical processes that affect our bodily structures.81 Hence, Philodemus will in all likelihood have to acknowledge that it is inevitable that even the wise man will become completely drunk if he were to drink excessively. Moreover, even when he achieves sagehood, the Epicurean will still not get rid of the last atomic vestiges of his former inclinations towards certain passions and vices. His mental disposition is properly rearranged, so as to be oriented towards wisdom and the good life. Yet, traces of his original nature remain, although they are unable to compromise his happiness, because the sage’s rationality can easily keep them in check.82 Yet, if drunkenness were to impair this rationality, it is not necessarily so, as we read in Philo’s account, that a less restrained version of the virtuous sage will be uncovered. Instead, one could find a mental disposition in complete disarray, where innate atomic imbalances and alcohol’s added heat are allowed to run riot, potentially causing a cataclysm of unrestrained passions and vicious behavior, in stark contrast with the sage’s usual kindness and rationality. More likely from an Epicurean point of view, is option (C), which holds that, as a matter of principle, the wise man will not drink enough to become drunk. If, like the Stoic sage in Seneca’s argument, he occasionally finds himself in specific circumstances in which it is fitting to drink to the point of getting tipsy,83 he will in all likelihood take care to stop drinking well before he reaches the 80 Lucretius’ comments on the effects of alcohol are, in fact, an illustration of the fact that body and soul are inseparably intertwined, and that whatever affects the body, be it the consumption of alcohol or a mortal wound followed by death, will also affect the soul, and vice versa. If the sage were somehow able to disconnect his soul from his body where alcoholic heat particles are raging unchecked, he might as well do the same when his body’s atomic structures start to disintegrate, which, as any Epicurean would confirm, he obviously cannot. 81 Although, of course, he is no Epicurean materialist, Seneca too points out that it would be illogical to claim that, somehow, the wise man would be able to completely overcome physical necessity, and get drunk without suffering the impairments that inevitably follow from this state. If we were to accept such a view, he argues, we might as well claim that the wise man will also be impervious to poison, sleeping-potions, and hellebore (Ep. 83.27). 82 DRN 3.307–322. 83 Sen., Ep. 83.17–18: ‘For even the middling good man avoids them (sc. the vices that ensue from drunkenness), not to mention the perfect sage, who is satisfied with slaking his thirst; the sage, even if now and then he is led on by good cheer which, for a friend’s sake,

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point where the alcohol’s fiery element might start to compromise his rationality, thus setting him on the highly undesirable path towards self-induced temporary μανία. As such, he acts in perfect accordance with Epicurus’ precept which does not exactly forbid some degree of intoxication, as long as one does not make a fool of oneself.84 The difference between position (B) and (C) lies not only in the quantity of strong drink that is consumed in relation to the drinker’s capacity to hold his drink. Important is also that in (B), the sage cannot get drunk, whereas in (C), he simply will not get drunk. The difference is that (B) assumes that, on account of his sagehood, the sage is physically unable to become drunk, even if he consumes quantities of alcoholic beverage that would put any other human being in a state of drunkenness. According to (C), on the other hand, the sage will not get drunk, in the sense that his wisdom allows him to stop drinking before he reaches a state of drunkenness.85 Physically, he can get drunk, and will indeed get drunk if someone were to shove a funnel down his throat and pour wine in it until the poor man is completely intoxicated. Yet, barring such specific circumstances, the sage will not get drunk. In fact, one could even say that, under normal circumstances, he cannot get drunk, because if, of his own volition, he were to indulge in heavy drinking to the extent of forsaking his rationality and ending up in a drunken stupor, one would surely be wrong to call him a sage.86 This idea is, probably, more or less implied in Philodemus’ counterargument against the Maximalists, who make claims about the sage on the basis of things that they see in other ‘intelligent’ men: if they see so-called intelligent men behave foolishly, they are probably wrong to believe that these men are intelligent, let alone wise, is carried somewhat too far, yet always stops short of drunkenness’ (transl. Gummere (1920)). 84 D.L. 10.119. 85 Seneca may have held a very similar view. Although for him, the emphasis seems to lie on the danger involved in repeated and prolonged drunkenness, distinguishing between the ebrius and the ebriosus (Ep. 83.10; Ira 1.4), he also states that the wise man will sometimes find himself in a situation where hilaritas longius producta est (Ep. 83.17), but will still be able to stop drinking before he reaches a critical point (citra ebrietatem resisitit). The fact that he uses longius to describe the duration of the drinking bout, suggests that, if the occasion calls for it, Seneca’s sage will also venture into the realm of tipsiness, where good cheer is still accompanied by a fully functional ratio. See also Sen., Tranq. an. 17.8–9: Non numquam et usque ad ebrietatem veniendum, non ut mergat nos, sed ut deprimat (…) Sed ut libertatis ita vini salubris moderatio est. Under normal circumstances, however, the course of action of Seneca’s sage may lie closer to the behavior that is prescribed by option (D), lest the repeated use of alcohol become a bad habit (cf. De tranq. an. 17.9). 86 I suspect that this idea also underlies the Stoic aphorisms in Stob., Flor. 2.7 (οὐχ οἶον δὲ μεθυσθήσεσθαι τὸν νοῦν ἔχοντα) and D.L. 7.118 (καὶ οἰνωθήσεσθαι μέν, οὐ μεθυσθήσεσθαι δὲ· ἔτι οὐδὲ μανήσεσθαι).

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and they are certainly wrong to regard the problematic behavior of such ‘intelligent’ men as illustrative of the conduct of the sage. Option (D), finally, holds that the sage will drink, but that he will not even become tipsy. We may imagine that, according to this view, the sage might drink no more than one or two cups of wine, preferably well-diluted,87 out of sheer politeness.88 Although this is not exactly abstinence, a keen symposiast might perhaps argue that, if this is how the sage is going to enjoy his wine, he might as well drink water instead.89 Of course, it remains to be seen whether the Epicureans shared this objection: Epicurus himself claimed to be content with a simple meal of bread and water, and called something as insignificant as a small pot of cheese a genuine feast.90 The difference between (C) and (D) gains relevance if, as Philo argues, there has indeed been a shift with regard to the common usage of the term μεθύειν. If so, one might say that Epicurus’ original claim may have corresponded to option (D), were it not for the fact that the phrase ἐν μέθῃ does not readily accord with a reading in which μέθη denotes nothing more than ‘strong drink’. If Epicurus had wanted to say ‘while taking strong drink’ or ‘while having taken strong drink’, in the way envisaged by Philo, he would probably have used the appropriate participle of a verb like μεθύειν, provided, of course, that μεθύειν can indeed be used as a synonym for μέθυ πίνειν. Philo attributes this ambiguous usage of the terms to οί παλαιοί, but the question remains whether both expressions were indeed still synonyms in Epicurus’ day. In extant literature, the phrase ἐν μέθῃ seems to be used exclusively in reference to some degree of actual intoxication, and not merely to indicate that one has merely taken one or two sips from a cup of wine.91 All things considered, it seems very likely that 87 Plutarch’s amusing preoccupation with water and watering down wine readily springs to mind here. Based on his own advice, one gets the impressions that, by the end of an evening of heavy banqueteering, Plutarch himself would generally have consumed more water than wine. cf. Plut. De tuenda 132BC; for an overview of Plutarch’s view on wine, see the papers in Montes Cala – Sánchez Ortiz de Landaluce – Gallé Cejudo (1999), and especially Nikolaidis (1999); Ingenkamp (1999) and Teodorsson (1999). 88 Cf. Sen., Ep. 83.17. 89 Cf. Nikolaidis (1999), 342–343: ‘Yet, judging once more from the extant literary symposia, from Plato and Xenophon to Athenaeus and Lucian, to say nothing about sympotic representations in art, few people in antiquity, I think, would attend a banquet in order to seek instruction or moral edification’. 90 D.L. 10.12. Moreover, in Mus. 4.130 (Delattre) Philodemus refutes the claims of the Stoic Diogenes of Babylon, who held that the sympotic combination of music and wine (32–36) will somehow give rise to a sort of συμποτικὴ ἀρετή: cf. De Sanctis (2010), 83–84. 91 See for example Ps.-Plut., Lib. educ. 1D; Athen., Deipn. 2.6.18; Paus., 1.25.1 and Polyb., Hist. 15.25.22, all of which contain the phrase ἐν μέθῃ in a clear context of actual intoxication.

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Epicurus meant to say that the sage may sometimes be prone to some degree of alcoholic intoxication, albeit, in light of all the above, a very light one, best described as tipsiness or something of that sort. Option (C), then, appears to be the best fit for Epicurus’ own position on the issue. There is little reason not to assume that this was Philodemus’ position as well. In fact, he briefly hints at his own view on the matter in his treatise De oeconomia. In col. 9.32–44 he writes as follows on Theophrastus’ claim92 that wine should be withheld from slaves:93 σκληρῶς μέντ[οι] τ[ὴ]ν τοῦ ο[ἴ]νου πόσιν κοιν[ῶς] ἀλλ᾿ [οὐ τὴν] τοῦ πλείονος καὶ τοὺ[ς] ἐλευθέρους [ὑβ]ριστὰ[ς] ποιε[ῖ]ν, διὸ παρὰ πο[λλο]ῖς ἔθνεσ[ι]ν ἀπέχεσθαι, καὶ τούτοις φανε[ρ]ὸν λέγειν, ὅτι δεῖ δούλοις ἢ μηδὲν ἢ ὀλιγάκις μεταδιδόναι, φανεροῦ μᾶλλο[ν] ὄντος, ὡς ἡ ποσὴ δύναμί[ν] τ᾿ ἐμποεῖ τῆι εὐθυμίαι καὶ χορηγεῖται παρὰ τοῖς ἐργαστικωτ[έ]ροις. However, it is a harsh claim of his that a drink of wine in general, and not just of too much wine, makes even free men insolent (and that this is why many nations abstain from it), and to say that for these reasons it is obvious that one should distribute wine to the slaves either not at all or very seldom, whereas the obvious thing is rather that a certain quantity of wine strengthens the spirit and is in ready supply among those who work most. Clearly, Philodemus believes that there is something like an appropriate quantity (ἡ ποσή) of wine, as opposed to simply too much of it. The latter may indeed engender insolence and, we may presume, other vices as well. The former, however, contributes to εὐθυμία. If drinking wine is supposed to have a positive effect, Philodemus will, in all likelihood, not have held the view expressed in option (D), which requires the sage to stop drinking before he even begins to experience any effect whatsoever. It is in any case important that, in this passage, Philodemus explicitly acknowledges drinking wine as a positive thing, with the ability to contribute to one’s happiness. Therefore, he may indeed have held the view that the sage, too, will drink, but never excessively. Leaving aside highly exceptional situations, in which the sage would somehow be forced to consume large amounts of strong wine

92 Theoph., Oec. 1344a31–34. 93 Transl. Tsouna (2013).

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nolens volens, Philodemus can confidently say that the sage will, as a ground rule, never become profoundly drunk.94 Unfortunately, Philodemus addresses the issue of drunkenness only briefly in De ira, and he does so exclusively in function of his refutation of the Maximalist theory on the ‘enraged’ sage. As far as he is concerned, it suffices to know that the founding fathers of Epicureanism never became profoundly drunk, nor irrationally angry, and that they never claimed that either of these things would be appropriate for the Epicurean sage. He can, no doubt, build a strong case on his appeal to exemplary lives of the Garden’s founding fathers. Moreover, he can point to Metrodorus’ famous statement that one should eat, drink wine, and gratify the belly ἀβλαβῶς.95 Clearly, Metrodorus would hardly have been inclined to call the consumption of quantities of alcohol that could lead to (temporary) μανία harmless.96 Moreover, Epicurus’ eulogy of the νήφων λογισμός, literally ‘sober reasoning’, can hardly be reconciled with condoning a degree of intoxication, high enough to render a correct λογισμός completely impossible.97 In terms of Epicurus’ famous classification of pleasures and desires, moderate drinking must surely be a kinetic pleasure, corresponding to a desire that is natural, but not necessary.98 One can, after all, live a comfort94

See also Bon. rex PHerc. 1507.19, where Philodemus describes how at the Homeric symposia, there is no clamor or uproar, symptomatic of drunkenness. Instead, these are civilized events, where both those who drink and those who do not, listen to the lyre being played and sing the ‘glories of men’; see Fish (2011a). It seems, then, that, good people may drink if they want to, but not so much as to lose control of their good manners. 95 Plut., Non posse 1098CD; 1100D; Adv. Col. 1125D. Although in translations, ἀβλαβῶς is generally interpreted as ‘without harming it (sc. the belly)’, it seems fairly reasonable that Metrodorus meant that the eating and drinking should take place in a way that does not cause damage to any part of our atomic constitution, encompassing both our body and our soul. 96 One might, of course, argue that even an Epicurean like Metrodorus might sometimes act in defiance of his own high-strung claims. In that case, however, questions should be raised with regard to the legitimacy of his status as a sage. An Epicurean may sometimes deviate from the Garden’s guidelines, but only if doing so is more advantageous or even plain inevitable. If he gets drunk and looses his composure for no other reason than a mere error of judgment with regard to his own capacity to hold his drink, we would probably have to conclude that this person has not quite mastered proper Epicurean λογισμός and is, therefore, not a true sage. 97 Erler (2010) associates Epicurus’ decision to coin this term with a polemical context, in which a dichotomy is envisaged between the sober reasoning of the mind on one hand, and (divine) inspiration through the consumption of wine, the attribute of the god Dionysus, on the other. See also Verde (2013). 98 Epicurus distinguishes between three types of desires: those that are natural and necessary, those that are natural, but not necessary, and those that are neither natural, nor necessary (cf. KD 29; SV 20; Ep. Men. 127).

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able life without drinking alcohol. Cassius’ case can serve as an example of an Epicurean who, for reasons known only to himself, chose not to indulge this unnecessary desire. Yet, if, instead, he had wished to drink wine, Epicurean doctrine would, no doubt, have allowed him to do so, provided that temperance is duly observed. As always, a correct application of φρόνησις is essential in determining whether a certain course of action is worth pursuing or not, taking into account its advantages and disadvantages in relation to the specific circumstances. At a banquet, social decorum and the unwritten rules of conviviality might require an Epicurean to down several cups of wine, lest he offend the host or spoil the experience for his fellow banqueteers.99 If that is the case, then it is probably safe to assume that he will sometimes conform himself to these customs, on the condition that these cups of wine do not cause him more harm than good.100 The rational calculus which has to provide him with a conclusive answer on this matter will be highly individual in nature, as it will to a considerable extent be based upon his own capacity to drink wine without suffering its negative effects.101 99

According to Plutarch, Metrodorus valued the conviviality of the occasion and the good cheer of his friends so highly that he was even prepared to drink with them while he was suffering from edema, a condition that does not exactly benefit from the consumption of extra liquids (Non posse 1097E). 100 Of course, certain symposiarchs might require participants to adopt the kind of drinking pace that will almost inevitably result in drunken revelry. In such cases, the Epicurean could presumably resort to Plutarch’s beloved drinking strategies, and water down his wine. Yet, one may well wonder if a good Epicurean would even bother to spend his evening mixing water with wine, while all around him people start to fall prey to profound intoxication. Perhaps he would just decline the invitation and enjoy the peace and quiet of his home, judging that very little benefit might be gained from spending an entire evening in the company of people who would throw a party with the express purpose of quickly getting profoundly drunk. 101 We should keep in mind Epicurus’ statement that the effects of wine are diverse, depending on various factors with regard to its consumption (Plut. Adv. Col. 1109EF). Apart even from the danger of losing one’s rationality in cases of profound intoxication, there is also the prospect of suffering from a hangover the next day, if one were to indulge in immoderate drinking. Somewhat surprisingly, perhaps, this aspect remains unaddressed in Epicurus’ and Philodemus’ extant comments on the matter of drunkenness, although this might, at least in the case of Philodemus’ De ira, be due to the argument’s focus on the sage’s mental processes, rather than his physical wellbeing. Moreover, one will generally start to experience the effects of strong drink on one’s clarity of mind, well before a point is reached beyond which physical misery in the near future becomes inevitable. Nevertheless, it should probably not be neglected in our treatment of the Epicurean position. Being hungover entails significant physical discomfort, and is therefore, by definition, the complete opposite of the state of katastematic pleasure that the good Epicurean should always strive to maintain. Therefore, there can be no doubt whatsoever

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To silence his opponents Philodemus ultimately seeks refuge with the argument ad hominem that, if one were to make such a shameful claim departing from one’s own experiences as an Epicurean, then surely, this says a lot more about one’s own character than about that of Epicurus and his peers.102 The Maximalists may very well argue that the sage will sometimes become tipsy, which Philodemus will probably not deny. Analogously, the sage will occasionally experience moderate anger, as Philodemus has argued against the Stoics and the stoicizing Epicurean Nicasicrates. Yet, as long as his opponents cannot convincingly prove that the sage will also become profoundly drunk, they cannot appeal to analogy to substantiate their claim that the sage will also become profoundly enraged. Therefore, Philodemus does not really need to elaborate upon this matter, since the burden of proof rests entirely upon his opponents. that drinking amounts of wine that will make him physically sick, is by no means appropriate for the Epicurean sage. 102 Indelli (1988), 248 notes that Philodemus uses a very similar argument against Crates in Poem. 5.22.2–8.

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Apology of the Sage εὐδοξίας ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον φρονήσεσθαι, ἐφ᾿ ὅσον μὴ καταφρονήσεσθαι Diogenes Laertius 10.120

∵ 7.1

Three Apologies

7.1.1 The Flattering Sage 7.1.1.1 An Accusation of Flattery The highest aspiration of every Epicurean is to be able to live a tranquil life among likeminded friends, free from the worries and insecurities of a public life. Philodemus seems to have had at his disposal all the ingredients for such a pleasant life of ἀταραξία while living in Piso’s beautiful villa on the Bay of Naples, where civilised lovers of philosophy and poetry came together to enjoy simple meals and pleasant conversations. Although Piso was a true Roman aristocrat who tried to combine his Epicurean sympathies with a political career, the vicissitudes of a public life in the Roman senate should not have been able to significantly affect the tranquillity within Philodemus’ Epicurean circle. Yet Philodemus writes the following in his treatise De adulatione:1 ὁ δὲ σοφὸς ὅμοιον μ[ὲν] οὐδὲν προσοίσεται κόλα[κι,] παρέξει δέ τισιν ὑπόνοιαν [ὡς] ἐστι τοιοῦτος, ὅτι κη[λεῖ φρέ]νας οὕτως ὅν τρόπον οὐδ᾿ α[ἱ μυ]ικαὶ Σειρῆνες. The sage will not at all behave like the flatterer, but he will offer some the suspicion that he is in fact such a one, precisely because he charms the mind in a way that not even the mythical Sirens can. Although no names are mentioned, the presence of such lines in De adulatione seems to suggest that Philodemus might have had some specific allegations of 1 Adul. PHerc. 222.2.2–7; transl. Yona (2018a).

© Wim Nijs, 2024 | doi:10.1163/9789004685338_008

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flattery in mind when he wrote them. In the next few lines Philodemus proceeds to contrast the sage and the flatterer:2 καὶ περὶ ἠθ[ῶν ἐ]νκατασκευὴν προσκα[θαρ]τικὸς ὁρᾶται καὶ [τ]ῶν [ἀγα]θῶν ἐπα[ιν]ετικὸς σοφίας, δια]πρέπ[ει δὲ] καὶ κ[ακίας] διακ[ρί]να[ς ἢ τὰς] παρ᾿[ἡμῖ]ν ἢ πάσα[ς.] μάλιστα δὴ τῶν ἀ[νθρώπων τοὺς] κόλακας ἐ[κ]διώκει, κα[ὶ πολύ]ς ἐστι κατατρέχων τῆ[ς] δι[αθέ]σεω[ς] α[ὐ]τῶν. ̣ And regarding the formation of attitudes, he is seen to be a purifier and an eulogist of the blessings of wisdom; and he distinguishes himself in the distinction of vices, both those in ourselves, as well as all of them in general. Of all people he most of all repels the flatterers and he is all about hounding their mental disposition. Philodemus argues that, despite the apparent similarities between them, the κόλαξ and the σοφός are in fact fundamentally different, since aforesaid similarities only regard the form of their words, not their intentions and effects. Even if the flatterer sometimes praises his victim’s actual virtues, he does not aim to encourage any moral improvement, and any positive effects of this praise are purely accidental. The words of the sage, on the other hand, add to morality rather than corrupting it and praise the benefits of wisdom rather than announcing pleasant untruths.3 Moreover, the sage does not only refrain from being a flatterer himself, but actively tries to repel the vice of flattery in others as well, as befits a true doctor of the soul.4 7.1.1.2 In Search of the Accusers Of even greater interest, however, is the part that comes after this, which adds to the earlier impression of a possibly apologetic context:5 καὶ τῶν [ὑ]παρχόντων πόλλ᾿ ἀπολα[υ]στὰ διδόασιν αὐτῶι· κα[ὶ σ]υ[γ]γενεῖς ἐνίων καὶ συνήθε[ις] π[ρ]οτιμώ[μ]ενον ὁρῶντες [ἀποδιδ]όασιν αὐτὸν ὡς κόλα[κα].

2 3 4 5

Adul. PHerc. 222.2.10–16. Cf. PHerc. 1675.4.26–8; cf. also Plut., Adul. 59A. Gargiulo (1981), 105; cf. Plut., Adul. 49B. Adul. PHerc. 222.2.16–21.

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And from what is available they give him many enjoyable things; and when the relatives and friends of some of them see that he is greatly being honoured, they define him as a flatterer. 7.1.1.2.1 Epicurus and the Sophists Here Philodemus names the συγγενεῖς and the συνήθεις of the receivers of alleged flattery as the group of people who would be making such allegations of flattery against the Epicurean philosopher. This suggests that jealousy might be the motivation for the accusers’ behaviour. These specifications give the impression that Philodemus has a fairly specific case of Epicureans being accused of flattery in mind. Unfortunately, the lines that follow are too badly damaged to enable us to determine the exact identity of these slanderers and their victim with absolute certainty. However, what we can glean from the damaged text of the last extant lines of col. 2 suggests that at least one of the situations which Philodemus is thinking of could very well concern the sophists slandering Epicurus.6 This would be consistent with the testimony offered by Diogenes Laertius, who reports that Epicurus was often accused of flattering a number of people, prominent among them the Syrian politician Mithres, but also Idomeneus, Herodotus and Timocrates.7 However, there are indications that Philodemus’ defence does not only concern Epicurus. Diogenes Laertius reports that the allegations of flattery against Epicurus largely stem from representatives of rival philosophical schools, among whom the Stoics Diotimus and Posidonius and the Peripatetics Nicolaus and Sotion. Additionally he mentions Dionysius of Halicarnassus and an anonymous author who apparently ascribed a number of epistles to Epicurus.8 It is not unlikely that the ‘sophists’ who are mentioned by Philodemus would also have had a place in the long list of mainly polemically motivated accusers. In fact, it remains yet to be seen if Philodemus’ ‘sophists’ are even real sophists at all, and not just rival philosophers such as the ones on Diogenes Laertius’ list. Just like Epicurus, and possibly Metrodorus as well, Philodemus tends to make polemical use of the term σοφιστής when indicating philosophers who are, at least in his opinion, guilty of using sophisms.9 Therefore, the ‘sophists’ mentioned in De adulatione could very well be 6 τοῦτ]ο δὲ καὶ σοφισταὶ ποιο[ῦ]σι.….]ν τὰς ̣ ἐρημίας ε[.. | …… γ]νωρίμων ἀπολ[.. | .….] διὰ δὴ καὶ τὸν ηκ[… |.…]οποτεγενομε[.…. |- - -]νον Ἐπικ[ουρ .. | - - -]υθ᾿ ἡ βάσις[.… 7 D.L. 10.4–5. 8 D.L. 10.3–4. 9 Angeli (1988), 82–102; Tepedino Guerra (1992), 122; (1994), 15. See also Longo Auricchio  – Tepedino Guerra (1981), 26–28.

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identical to the slanderers on Diogenes Laertius’ list. Be that as it may, it seems in any case rather unlikely that Philodemus would describe such accusers as the συγγενεῖς καὶ συνήθεις of those who were reputedly flattered by Epicurus. Therefore, I am led to believe that Philodemus was not exclusively thinking about Epicurus’ case when he wrote the apologetical passage in PHerc. 222.2. 7.1.1.2.2 Philodemus and Cicero This passage may also have been inspired by Philodemus’ own situation as Piso’s cliens and the way in which he is portrayed in Cicero’s highly abusive Oratio in Pisonem, in which considerable collateral damage is inflicted on Philodemus as part of Cicero’s vehement attack on Piso’s reputation.10 As a political ally of Caesar, Piso made Cicero into a bitter enemy when he used his position as a consul to support Clodius when the latter proposed in 58 bc that Cicero be banished. One year later Cicero retaliates by accusing Piso of the misgovernment of the province of Macedonia. When a disgraced Piso returns to Rome and gives a speech in which he bitterly attacks Cicero on all levels, political and personal alike, the latter responds in kind. In 55 bc he delivers his Oratio in Pisonem before the senate. For Cicero, who tends to be a staunch opponent of Epicureanism, Piso’s philosophical allegiance to this school offers an ideal opportunity to bring on all those typical points of criticism and longstanding stereotypes that have ever been dreamed up by opponents of Epicurus and his followers. Typical points of criticism such as their pursuit of base corporeal pleasure at the expense of virtue, their alleged atheism, their selfish withdrawal from public life and their opportunistic view on friendship are all included in Cicero’s comprehensive attack on Piso’s personality.11 In order to effectively criticise Piso’s relationship with Epicureanism and his Epicurean friends, Cicero conveniently chooses to inflict collateral damage on at least one of those friends. He finds an easy target in a foreign cliens and Epicurean house philosopher like Philodemus, whom he describes in the following terms:12 Graecus facilis et valde venustus nimis pugnax contra imperatorem populi Romani esse noluit. […] Poëma porro facit ita festivum, ita concinnum, ita elegans, nihil ut fieri possit argutius; in quo reprehendat eum licet, si qui volet, modo leviter, non ut impurum, non ut improbum, non ut audacem, sed ut Graeculum, ut adsentatorem, ut poëtam. 10 This has already been suggested by Gargiulo (1981), 105. 11 Cf. DeLacy (1941), 49. 12 Cic., Pis. 70; transl. Watts (1931).

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The Greek was far too charming and complaisant to have any notion of standing up to a General of the Roman people. […] He proceeded to compose a poem so witty, neat and elegant, that nothing could be cleverer. Anyone who wishes is at liberty to find fault with him for this poem; but let him do so gently, not as with a low and bare-faced rogue, but as with a poor little Greek, a parasite, a poet. As a conclusion to his mocking words about Philodemus he deals the Greek one last blow when he not only questions Philodemus’ strength of character, but also his capacities as a philosopher and a teacher of philosophy:13 Si quidem philosophia, ut fertur, virtutis continet et officii et bene vivendi disciplinam; quam qui profitetur, gravissam sustinere mihi personam videtur; sed idem casus illum ignarum quid profiteretur, cum se philosophum esse diceret, istius impurissimae atque intemperantissimae pecudis caeno et sordibus inquinavit. If, that is to say, philosophy is correctly described as comprising the whole theory of virtue and duty and the good life; and the man who professes that seems to me to have taken upon himself the most responsible of functions. He did but imperfectly apprehend what he was professing in calling himself a philosopher, and chance too defiled him with the mud and filth of that bestial and unbridled monster. Although Cicero does not mention Philodemus by name,14 and even admits that the latter possesses a few positive traits,15 his criticism and mockery more than suffice to cast serious doubt upon several core pillars of the relationship between Philodemus and his patron. What does Cicero’s invective entail for Philodemus? He does admit that Philodemus is humanus when he is not in the company of Piso or others like him. Therefore a straightforward reading of Cicero’s words would seem to suggest that for Cicero Philodemus is not a full member of the other Rome-based group of Epicureans with whom Piso meets up, who are incessantly revelling in an unbridled pursuit of bodily pleasures. Another interpretation suggested 13 Pis. 71; transl. Watts (1931). 14 From Asconius (Pis. 68) we learn that Philodemus is the Graecus Cicero speaks of: Philodemum significat qui fuit Epicureus illa aetate nobilissimus, cuius et poemata sunt lasciua. 15 Cicero, Pis. 68: homo, ut uere dicam – sic enim cognoui – humanus, sed tam diu, quam diu cum aliis est aut ipse secum.

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by David Sider is that Philodemus was indeed part of this rowdy group, where he also met the young Piso,16 but that he would, after moving to Naples, have come in contact with Siro’s more restrained Epicurean circle, consequently abandoning his former excessively hedonistic lifestyle in favour of the more sober one that is in line with his extant ethical writings. Such an interpretation would indeed be consistent with Cicero’s added condition sed tam diu, quam diu cum aliis est aut ipse secum (Pis. 68). Furthermore, a Philodemus who acts like a philosophical chameleon whose interpretation of Epicurean doctrine shifts in order to fit in with the people around him would be completely in line with Cicero’s assertion that the Greek pugnax contra imperatorem populi Romani esse noluit (Pis. 70). However, taking Cicero’s rhetorical nuances and polemical innuendo as absolute truth always entails a certain risk. Cicero might indeed consider Philodemus to be more humane than the Epicureans in Rome. Yet, for all we know he could just be making this claim because it suits the picture he is painting of Piso as a corruptor of moral men, while in reality considering Philodemus as bad as his Epicurean peers in Rome. In any case, the attribution of the positive trait of humanitas to Philodemus does not ultimately serve to mitigate the man’s unseemly behaviour, but instead may even further aggravate the charges brought against him, in the sense that, in light of his natural humanitas, he should have been perfectly able to avoid becoming a slavish flatterer of Piso.17 Of course, we should always keep in mind that Cicero’s main target in this speech is not Philodemus, but Piso. Even though Cicero ascribes a certain weakness of character to Philodemus, it is only through extended exposure to Piso’s nefarious influence that the philosopher is brought down to the flatterer’s deplorable state. Considering that Cicero’s often quite contradictory accusations against Piso himself deserve to be taken cum grano salis, one should be equally careful when it comes to Philodemus’ portrait. In any case, it seems that, when looking for reliable biographical data on Philodemus, the In Pisonem is probably not the best place to look at. 7.1.1.3 Philodemus’ Response One might expect that the Epicurean Philodemus would not allow his ἀταραξία to be compromised by slanderous allegations the likes of which had already been uttered against the founding fathers of Epicureanism.18 Yet he would 16 Sider (1997), 17–18. 17 Cf. Luc., Nigr. 23–24. 18 Of course, we know of many cases in which Epicureans enthusiastically engaged in polemic altercations. Cf. Kleve (1978), 42; Kechagia (2011), 71–79 and Roskam (2017),

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certainly bear in mind Epicurus’ own advice εὐδοξίας ἐπὶ τοσοῦτον προνοήσεσθαι, ἐφ᾿ ὅσον μὴ καταφρονήσεσθαι (‘to pay just so much regard to his reputation as not to be looked down upon’).19 In Philodemus’ situation this would mean that the precept of λάθε βιώσας should, as a rule, indeed be followed, but if despite all precautions the philosopher is being negatively noticed by the multitude, as must have been the case after being publicly slandered by Cicero, he may be forced to take action in order to repair his own reputation. However, Philodemus’ circumstances are considerably different from those of the former Epicureans in Greek city-states like Athens, who had to defend themselves against attacks from rival schools. Although Cicero the philosopher can be compared to criticasters such as Timon, Chrysippus or Carneades, Cicero the statesman is a different matter altogether. The In Pisonem is primarily an oration of the statesman wishing to politically discredit his opponent, but the fact that in this particular speech he combines political invective with philosophical polemics creates a serious predicament for Philodemus, who is dragged into a public scene he manifestly does not want to be part of, due to his adherence to the precept of λάθε βιώσας.20 Moreover, not being a Roman citizen it would have been far from easy to clear his name. Significantly, Philodemus is not even present when Cicero slanders him in front of the senate; actually, as a foreigner (Graecus atque advena, as Cicero explicitly calls him)21 he would not even have been allowed to be present if he had wanted to. Piso and Cicero can keep attacking each other with speeches in retaliation of past insults ad libitum, but when Philodemus is publicly labelled a parasite there is not all that much he can do about it.

240–241, 269. Yet, I would like to draw a distinction between purely intellectual altercations, however heated these may seem at times, and situations in which an Epicurean’s personality is maliciously slandered before the public at large. As Roskam (2011), 34 notes in his interpretation of Metrodorus’ fr. 60 K, the Epicureans were well capable of being provocative in a polemical context in their books, rather than in public (ἐν πόλει), where acting like an obnoxious gnat (κώνωψ) could ultimately cause damage to themselves (cf. Nijs (2020b), 158, n. 2). The negative emotions ensuing from personal attacks, such as the one Philodemus experiences from Cicero, would be far more detrimental to one’s ἀταραξία than simple philosophical polemics. 19 D.L. 10.120. 20 Ironically it was probably Piso’s own attempt to reconcile his political practices with Epicureanism (cf. Pis. 65) that motivated Cicero’s decision to attack his philosophy; cf. Fish (2011b), 100, n. 109; see Griffin (2001), 91 for Piso’s Epicurean motives for declining a triumph. 21 Cic., Pis. 70.

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What he can do, is what every Epicurean does when a problem arises: he considers what Epicurus would have done in such a situation.22 And indeed, Philodemus may have found something of a precedent in Epicurus’ course of action when faced with the dangerous attacks of the renegade Epicurean Timocrates. In any case, Philodemus himself writes that Epicurus did not respond to slanderous personal attacks in kind, preferring instead to provide rational arguments (λογισμῷ)23 to overcome βλάβαι ἐξ ἀνθρώπων,24 thus moving the fight to a battlefield he was thoroughly familiar with and which would not entail the risk of mental disturbance.25 Philodemus’ apologetical statements in De adulatione could very well be part of this defence, although it would probably go too far to claim that the work should be read as a direct response to Cicero’s invectives. Philodemus’ De adulatione is, after all, not a stand-alone work written as an ad hoc answer to the In Pisonem, but a part of Philodemus’ magnum opus De vitiis. The apologetical passage in PHerc. 222 amounts only to a small portion of the entire work, which offers, above all, an extensive categorization and analysis of flattery and related vices. Moreover, De vitiis was not published shortly after Cicero delivered his speech in 55 bc, but at least five years later, which rather contradicts the scenario of Philodemus seating himself at his writing table in an outburst of righteous natural anger. Thirdly, Philodemus’ identification of the slanderers as συγγενεῖς καὶ συνήθεις of the alleged receiver of flattery is no more compatible with Cicero than it was with the likes of Diotimus and Posidonius in the case of Epicurus. Yet the attitude of these συγγενεῖς and συνήθεις may have been what prompted Philodemus to react five years after Cicero’s initial invective. It is entirely possible that Philodemus did not immediately react after Cicero’s speech, reasoning that any attempt to counter the attack would expose him even more to the public than Cicero’s words had already done. Although the wise man should pay enough regard to his reputation as not to be looked down upon, the result of the Epicurean inner calculus of benefit and detriment may 22

The Epicurean habit of considering all life choices in light of what the Master would do is perfectly illustrated by Seneca’s borrowed Epicurean aphorism Sic fac, inquit, omnia, tamquam spectet Epicurus (Ep. 25.5). 23 Cf. D.L. 10.117. 24 Phld., Epicur. 24.2–9; 26.1–12. 25 Roskam (2007b), 47. Of course, not every aspect of Epicurus’ reaction to Timocrates’ attacks sets a relevant example for Philodemus. We know, for example, that Epicurus sent an envoy of trusted followers to the Royal Court in an attempt to plead his case and to repair the damage that Timocrates had caused (Plut., Adv. Col. 1126C). It would, for obvious reasons, be neither appropriate nor helpful for Philodemus to send people to the Roman Senate, as if its members would even be interested in the reputation of a politically insignificant Graeculus.

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have been that attracting Cicero’s attention even more would be more detrimental than continuing to live safely and pleasantly in Piso’s villa and waiting for the public to forget about him. However, Cicero’s habit of publishing many of his speeches may have caused Philodemus’ portrait to keep circulating, thus serving envious friends and family members of Roman aristocrats in his Epicurean circle as a welcome source to draw from for their own slanderous accusations against him. Of course, it is entirely possible that, even without Cicero’s In Pisonem, Philodemus would still have written a treatise on flattery as part of his therapeutic project. However, his express use of the treatise as a platform to distinguish the flatterer from the sage could very well have been prompted by the lingering effects of Cicero’s invectives. However that may be, the importance attributed to the topic of flattery in De vitiis strongly suggests that accusations of flattery were a matter of great interest for Philodemus and the Epicureans of his circle, which could indicate that they posed a real problem to them. In any case, such allegations are far more damaging for later Epicureans such as Philodemus who live as foreigners in the Roman Republic. Being fully dependent on patrons like Piso, it is imperative that they counter any allegations of flattery and unilateral opportunism that could put the sincerity of their friendship in question. Furthermore, their humble social status forces them to reconcile their doctrinal way of life with the servile position of a cliens with regard to his Roman patronus. Where Epicurus is reported to have addressed influential men like Mithres in a way reminiscent of flattery in order to secure their sympathy and support for the Garden, Epicurean house philosophers like Philodemus have to spend every single day of their life in a position of dependency just to be able to keep living a tranquil life. Therefore Philodemus’ books on flattery are of special use to people who have to deal with the challenges of the relationship between a client and his patron,26 and may have catered to the needs of many Greek refugees trying to adapt to the social context of their new life in Italy.27 7.1.1.4 The Intended Reader Who then is the intended reader of De adulatione? It is certainly not Cicero, considering that of the remaining fragments only PHerc. 222 seems to be 26 While the cliens-patronus relationship is typically Roman, the κόλαξ as a regular guest at the tables of rich and influential men was already a well-established social role in Greek society, albeit not one that was well-respected; cf. Longo Auricchio (1986), 82. Highlighting the subtle differences between the economically, but not intellectually and morally, dependent Epicurean cliens and the slavish κόλαξ of the dinner table must have been important for Greeks in Italy. 27 Cf. Gigante (1985), 24.

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apologetic, while the other fragments are more in line with Philodemus’ diagnostic and therapeutic practices within the framework of his project of being a teacher of philosophy and a doctor of the soul. Of course, a copy of the treatise may eventually have reached Cicero via his Epicurean friend Atticus. In any case, it seems safe to say that Philodemus primarily intended that the treatise be read by other Epicureans, to whom, as Gigante points out, some of its passages could serve as a manual for the successful realisation of a fuga dal servilismo when trying to cope with the Roman system of social hierarchy.28 Others that will probably be reached within the Epicurean networks are the Roman aristocrats consorting with Greek teachers of philosophy such as Philodemus. These would certainly benefit from a refutation of the accusation of flattery and an affirmation of the sincerity of Epicurean friendship, since they are the ones who might otherwise be influenced by the envious slander of non-Epicurean friends and relatives. The necessity of a successful fuga dal servilismo in patronus-cliens relationships must in any case have been widely felt among clientes, Greeks and Romans alike.29 Horace, too, defiantly tries to establish his independence from his patron Maecenas, as well as the genuine nature of their mutual friendship, incorporating in his Epistles themes that are reminiscent of Philodemus’ De adulatione.30 Such recurring themes include, but are not limited to the reference to the Aristotelian antithetical vices of flattery and enmity, of which friendship is the mean,31 but also the

28 Gigante (1985), 24. We would, however, fail to do justice to the extent of Philodemus’ psychotherapeutic project if we were to consider De adulatione in its entirety as nothing more than a manual for clientes. 29 A satirical illustration of the hardships faced by Greek house philosophers can be found in Lucian’s De mercede conductis. Lucian mocks themes such as the need to play the part of the servile κόλαξ in order to get properly paid (Merc. cond. 38), the danger of φθόνος turning into malicious accusations (Merc. cond. 39–40) and the house philosopher’s vulnerability to such charges being brought against him by the patronus’ intimi: ὁ μὲν γὰρ κατήγορος καὶ σιωπῶν ἀξιόπιστος, σὺ δὲ Ἕλλην καὶ ῥᾴδιος τὸν τρόπον καὶ πρὸς πᾶσαν ἀδικίαν εὔκολος. Τοιούτους γὰρ ἅπαντας ἡμᾶς εἶναι οἴονται, καὶ μάλα εἰκότως: ‘Your accuser is trustworthy even when he holds his tongue, while you are a Greek, and easy-going in your ways and prone to all sorts of wrong-doing. That is what they think of us all, very naturally’. (Merc. cond. 40; transl. Harmon (1921)). 30 See Yona (2018a), 190–248 and (2018b) on this. 31 Compare PHerc. 1082.2.1–3: φιλία […] ἡς ἀντ[ι]παλός ἐστιν ἡ κολακεία to Horace, Ep. 1.18.9: Ut matrona meretrici dispar erit atque discolor, infido scurrae distabit amicus. Est huic diversum vitio vitium prope maius, asperitas agrestis et inconcinna gravisque, quae se commendat tonsa cute, dentibus atris, dum volt libertas dici mera veraque virtus. Horace explicitly names enmity as the other extreme, which remains implicit in Philodemus; cf. Gargiulo (1981), 104; Kemp (2010), 67–68.

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important instrumental role that is attributed to the liber amicus32 in achieving moral rectitude, which strongly reminds one of Philodemus’ treatment of Epicurean παρρησία.33 Horace explicitly associates himself with Virgil, Varius and Plotius,34 all members of Philodemus’ circle of friends, and he may even have had a direct connection with Philodemus,35 which supports the hypothesis that Horace may have used the latter’s teachings as a basis for some of his writings.36 If this is indeed the case, it would indicate that De adulatione may indeed have successfully served other clientes in situations similar to that of Philodemus’, such as Horace, as a manual for realising their own fuga dal servilismo. This also highlights the fact that Philodemus’ works concern different types of sages. Whilst, as we already saw in chapter three, De oeconomia seems to be written especially for wealthy landowners and describes the tasks and characteristics of a landowning sage, De adulatione pertains to a very different sort of sage. The wise Epicurean who has to be careful not to be slandered by his patron’s jealous relatives does, in all likelihood, not possess a thriving estate, nor the steady income and financial independency that it yields. Both these poor, financially dependent Epicureans and their landowning peers can become wise, but either group’s practical application of wisdom to their daily life is, obviously, bound to be very different. Penniless Epicureans would probably not have had much use for Philodemus’ remarks on the correct administration of an estate, while a warning about the danger of being mistaken for a flattering hanger-on would probably have been of little interest to wealthy aristocrats. With works like De oeconomia and De adulatione, Philodemus makes sure that his multivolume collection De vitiis includes practical advice that caters to the needs of some very diverse types of aspiring sages. 7.1.1.5 Flattery and Frank Speech In order to fully appreciate the importance that not being considered a servile κόλαξ must have had for clientes like Philodemus and Horace, the exact nature of the flatterer’s role in ancient society should be taken into account.37 32 Hor., Sat. 1.4.132. 33 Cf. Lib. dic., passim; Adul. PHerc. 1082.2.1–14, where the element of frank speech is added to the antithetical pair flattery-friendship as a characteristic of friendship; cf. Gargiulo (1981), 104; Kemp (2010), 74–75. 34 Sat. 1.5.40–43; 1.10.81. 35 See Sider (1997), 20–22 for a more elaborate account of Horace’s possible association with Philodemus’ inner circle. 36 Cf. Yona (2018a), 15–18. 37 For a comprehensive study on the figure of the κόλαξ, see Ribbeck (1883).

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Originally κόλακες, as the inevitable guests of any rich family’s table, were seen as pitiful creatures who were completely dissociated from genuine friendship.38 In fact, the type of the κόλαξ seems to have corresponded to a popular stock character in the New Comedy39 and was frequently used in the Athenian democracy as an insult reserved for those statesmen who appeared all too eager to please the Athenian δῆμος.40 The issue of κολακεία only becomes relevant for the relationship between friends when these are of unequal status. This applies in particular to friendships between monarchs and their counsellors, or, in Philodemus’ and Horace’s case, between a wealthy patronus and his cliens. It should, however, be noted that not everyone deemed this type of relationship to be any sort of friendship in the first place. Aristotle, for instance, considers such relationships inferior and does not even accept them as actual friendships, unless the difference in status is balanced by a mechanism of proportionality which entails that the inferior partner bestows a measure of honor upon his superior, which should be proportional to the benefit he derives from their association.41 Evidently, accomplishing such an equalisation would be very hard, if not impossible, when the difference in status is all too great.42 Considering the fact that the benefits Philodemus received from Piso include the provision of his entire livelihood as well as a beautiful villa for him to live in, one might suspect that equalising such a staggering imbalance would be deemed quite impossible. The fact that in antiquity the validity of unequal friendship was disputed explains why it was absolutely imperative for people like Philodemus and Horace to establish and defend their position as a true and frankly speaking friend (liber amicus), rather than a κόλαξ who is in fact not even a friend at all. If the κόλαξ is antithetical to the true friend, and if παρρησία is characteristic of true friendship, one might understandably expect it to be relatively easy to distinguish the sage’s frank speech from the flatterer’s insincere words, even if the sage’s dicta about the good life sometimes also sound attractive as if they were uttered by the Σειρῆνες.43 There are, however, at least two ways in which the words of the flatterer and the sage could become easy to confuse. In the first place, the experienced flatterer might try to feign 38 Theophrastus, for example, describes the relationship between the flatterer and his patron as a quite degrading form of ὁμιλία, rather than actual φιλία: τὴν δὲ κολακείαν ὑπολάβοι ἂν τις ὁμιλίαν αἰσχρὰν εἶναι, συμφέρουσαν δὲ τῷ κολακεύοντι (Char. 2). 39 Konstan (1998), 292. 40 Cf. Isocr., Pace 8.4; Similar to this is Aristotle’s equation of a tyrant’s flatterers and democracy’s demagogues (Pol. 1292a.21–24). 41 Cf. Gill (1998), 318–319; Arist., EN 1158b.23–28; 1162b.2–4; 1163b.11–12. 42 Cf. Konstan (1998), 290. 43 Adul. PHerc. 222.2.

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παρρησία in order to convince his victims of the sincerity of their friendship.44 Even though such ‘hollow’ παρρησία45 sounds somewhat harsher than the flatterer’s usual tone, the experienced flatterer carefully sees to it that he does not criticise any serious shortcomings in his victim’s character or deeds. Instead, trifling matters46 or even imaginary faults47 are targeted in such a way that this so-called frankness fuels the victim’s emotional impulses and provokes actions that are in the flatterer’s own interest.48 Secondly, the sage himself may sometimes see fit to sweeten his harsh words. Epicurean frank speech is far from uniform in its manifestations, as becomes apparent in Philodemus’ own elaborate treatment of the matter in De libertate dicendi. Philodemus describes how different persons require the application of different types of παρρησία in different situations, which means that parrhesiastic speeches can vary in contents and severity. Moreover, he mentions that some types of people, among whom kings and persons of high standing in general, do not take it very well if they are addressed in a parrhesiastic fashion.49 Although the extant text does not explicitly mention this, we might expect that for the use of παρρησία towards such people, and therefore probably also towards Piso, Philodemus would recommend a mild type of frank speech (μέτριον εἶδος), rather than the harsh (σκληρόν) or bitter (πικρόν) type.50 Philodemus’ choice for the mild type of frank speech51 when addressing Piso could certainly explain why it would be easy for outsiders to confuse his use of such a sugar-coated form of παρρησία with flattery. Once, albeit unjustly, 44 Cf. Plut., Adul. 51CD: ‘But the most unprincipled trick of all that he [sc. the flatterer] has is this: perceiving that frankness of speech, by common report and belief, is the language of friendship especially (as an animal has its peculiar cry), and, on the other hand, that lack of frankness is ignoble, he does not allow even this to escape imitation, but, just as clever cooks employ bitter extracts and astringent flavourings to remove the cloying effect of sweet things, so flatterers apply a frankness which is not genuine or beneficial, but which, as it were, winks while it frowns, and does nothing but tickle’ (transl. Babbitt (1927)). 45 Plut., Adul. 59C. 46 Plut., Adul. 59EF. 47 Plut., Adul. 60D ff.: ‘But we come now to matters that are a serious problem, and do great damage to the foolish, when the flatterer’s accusations are directed against emotions and weaknesses the contrary to those that a person really has’ (transl. Babbitt (1927)). 48 Cf. Plut., Adul. 61E–62B. 49 Lib. dic. 23a; 23b; 24a. 50 Tsouna (2007), 96–97. 51 For an example of elements that could feature in mild frank speech, see Lib. dic. fr. 14, 5–10: ‘When he is not disappointed in some people, or very vehemently indicating his own annoyance, he will not, as he speaks, forget “dearest” and “sweetest” and similar things and …’ (transl. Konstan et al. (1998)).

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branded as an adsentator, to use Cicero’s terminology, being the inferior partner in his unequal friendship with Piso, Philodemus would easily fall into the category of insincere opportunists, well outside the scope of what the communis opinio would consider to be real friendship. It seems, then, that mocking words spoken by someone like Cicero could indeed pose a serious threat to a dependent house philosopher’s search of tranquillity. 7.1.2 The Irascible Sage It is, however, not only in his De adulatione that Philodemus seems to be offering some sort of apology of the Epicurean sage.52 He apparently adopts a very similar strategy in De superbia and De ira. First, we will take a look at the following passage from De ira:53 At any rate, people do appear (irascible) to that extent even when their disposition is quite opposite (φαίνονται δ᾿ οὖν πρὸς τόσον καὶ τὴν ἐναντιωτάτην ἔχοντες διάθεσιν), so that even a sage (sc. might give), as, for instance, even Epicurus gave the impression of (being) such a person to some (ὥστε κἂν σοφός, καθάπερ ἀμέλει καὶ Ἐπίκουρος ἀπέδωκεν ἐνίοις τοιούτου φαντασίαν). The characteristics [indicated] might be [so many] and such that … [nine lines missing] … [and] th[en] (there follows?), because of his (the sage’s) af[fection] (for them), frequent and quite intense rebuking of all or most of his disciples – often even reviling, out of quickness of spirit – and before fully realizing over what sort of things their misbehavior (occurred); fits of anger occasionally seen in him (ὀργαί ποτε θεωρούμεναι), though some have made it an axiom that the good person should be unmoved (sc. by emotion), his reserved manner in his relations – for the most part – with the public (σύννοια κατὰ τὰς ἐπιμειξίας ὡς ἐπὶ τὸ πολὺ τὰς τοῖς πολλοῖς); a severe style of refutation, in both writing and lecturing, of philosophers who have committed errors in their arguments (ἔλεγχος ἀκριβὴς ἔν τε γραφαῖς καὶ διατριβαῖς τῶν κατὰ τοὺς λ[ό]γους διαπεπτωκότων φιλοσόφων); desertion by some of his friends because of his frank speaking or their having been refused something; sometimes even [hatred again]st him from those who are emb[ittered], because they (the sages) are sharp-tempered (ἀπόστασις ἐνίων φίλων διὰ τὰς ὑπ᾿ αὐτοῦ παρρησίας ἢ καὶ τῶι παρῃτῆσθαι· ποτὲ δὲ καὶ 52

Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 271, n. 177 note that there are parallels between the defense of the Epicurean sage from accusations of irascibility, arrogance, and flattery. They do not discuss this topic in detail, however. 53 Ira 34.39–36,6; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), with modification.

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[.. (.) μῖσος πρ]ὸς τοῦτον πι[κραινο]μένων, ὥς εἰσιν ἀκράχολοι); falling afoul of servants who had done wrong (δούλοις περίπτωσ[ις] ἁμαρτωλοῖς); and because of many other actions … [ca. ten lines missing] … just as some sages will present the impression of being irascible (μᾶλλον ἀποδώσουσι φαντασίαν ὀργίλων) more than others, (namely), those in whom there is more natural [anger] present, as we said before, or who are more given to frank criticism for the reasons we listed at length in our On Frank Speech, or because such things happen to them more often. It seems that some sages, and among them even Epicurus himself, behaved sometimes in ways that could be mistaken for irascibility. Although Philodemus stresses that their disposition is certainly not irascible, he admits that some sages are simply more prone to natural anger than others. We should probably interpret this statement in light of Lucretius’ claim that people can achieve wisdom in spite of the original makeup of their disposition, even though traces of their original disposition may remain present in them.54 These angry sages, then, may have been born with an atomic makeup that could potentially have led to serious anger issues, had they not been saved by Epicurean doctrine. By virtue of their wisdom, they will, by definition, be spared the unpleasantness of irascibility and the intense and harmful empty anger that flows from it. It would, however, seem that even their relatively frequent and outspoken feelings of justified natural anger can sometimes lead to trouble. Philodemus notes a couple of issues that might arise for these angry sages and that might make them seem irascible: (1) The anger-prone sage might rebuke his students frequently, intensely, and sometimes even unjustly, although he does so with their own best interests at heart. This type of sage will often employ a style of teaching that reflects a character that might sometimes be mistaken for irascibility. In his De liberate dicendi, Philodemus points out that the choice between a mild or sharper form of criticism does not only depend on the student who has erred and the nature and gravity of his error,55 but also very much on the dispositions and teaching skills of individual Epicurean teachers.56 As such, the sage might come across as irascible, and may at times even administer frank criticism where it is not needed.57 54 55 56 57

DRN 3.306–322. Cf. Tsouna (2007), 96–97. Lib. dic. 3b; 5a. See section 4.3.4. Cf. Lib. dic. fr. 62.7–13: εἰ μὴ καὶ τὸ παρρησιάσασθαί ποτε τὸν σοφόν, οὐδ[ὲ]ν αὐτῶν ἡμαρτηκότων, παραλογισθέντα καὶ παρρ[ησ]ίαν ἴσως [ἀτ]όπ[ως διὰ πολλὰς] αἰτίας [προσφέροντα]: ‘(…) except for the fact that even the wise man has at times spoken frankly when they

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One might wonder whether, in these cases, the sage does not err almost like fools tend to do: after all, he apparently bases his actions on an incorrect understanding of the situation. One would expect that the rationalistic approach that is so typical of Epicureanism would have prevented such a misstep. Yet, the sage’s error – if error indeed it be – can in all likelihood be explained as the – admittedly infelicitous result – of a methodologically correct calculus. In this kind of situation, the psychological wellbeing of his students are at stake, and the most effective course of action might be to rebuke them promptly, and harshly, so as to immediately crush any beginnings of vicious behavior. Delaying one’s response in order to ascertain that the student is indeed as guilty of error as he seems, might come at the cost of a serious decrease of that response’s effectiveness. The sage’s rash actions, then, may still be perfectly justified if, from his experience as a teacher, he judges that it might be more detrimental to the student’s wellbeing not to take immediate action, than to risk rebuking him unnecessarily. We may presume that the sage has no trouble admitting his own mistakes and offering his apologies when necessary, and, as a result, he will generally have little trouble repairing the relationship with the student he unwittingly wronged.58 This passage also shows Philodemus’ profound commitment to the wellbeing of his students.59 Clearly, he was convinced that his responsibilities as a teacher might, to a certain extent, justify taking some calculated risks with regard to the potential negative consequences of his displays of anger, which is far from self-evident for a fundamentally egocentric Epicurean thinker. The Epicurean wise man will sometimes be prepared to die for his friend, as Diogenes Laertius assures us,60 and quite similarly, so it would seem, the teacher will occasionally face the potential repercussions of his calculated angry outbursts, out of genuine concern for his students’ psychological wellbeing. (2) The anger-prone sage may occasionally know outbursts of anger and may also display a downcast, brooding countenance (σύννοια) when interacting with others, especially when he is dealing with the public at large.61 It would seem that people who do not really know the sage may sometimes

have not erred, because he has reasoned falsely and perhaps [applies] frankness [wrongly for many] reasons’. (transl. Konstan et al. (1998)). 58 Cf. Phld., Sup. 10. 59 See section 4.2. 60 D.L. 10.120. 61 Compare Sup. 6.19–20, where the σεμνότης τῆς ὄψεως is named as one of the aspects of the sage’s life and countenance that sometimes lead people to accuse him of arrogance.

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take one look at his forbidding appearance and quickly decide to give him a wide berth.62 (3) A very harsh way of polemicizing is also characteristic of this type of sage. Epicurus himself famously demeaned and insulted rival philosophers,63 while both he and other first generation Epicureans liked to come up with highly provocative one-liners.64 Nor does Philodemus himself shun sharp polemics and ad hominem arguments in his writings.65 If one were to base one’s assessment of the Epicureans purely upon the style of their arguments in their books and lectures, one might indeed almost forget that their lives were actually devoted to pleasure, tranquility, and friendship.66 (4) These sages will sometimes make real enemies on account of their natural anger and may even lose some of their friends because of their behavior. This is quite a shocking element from an Epicurean perspective, although, of course, an Epicurean would reason that it is in fact a blessing to be rid of so-called friends who are apparently unable to conform to some of the core concepts of a solid friendship. We should bear in mind that Epicurus also lost a friend when Timocrates turned against the Garden. We do not know the exact events that led to their breakup, but judging by the intensity of Timocrates’ hatred towards his former Master, his brother, and his former companions, it seems likely that the conflict went far beyond the level of mere philosophical disagreement. In fact, Philodemus reports that Timocrates claimed both to love and to hate his own brother Metrodorus, which points at a very personal emotional component of the conflict.67 Although there is no way to ascertain this, Philodemus’ comment that some sages might sometimes inadvertently turn 62 It is remarkable and somewhat puzzling that busts of Epicurus almost always depict him as an exceptionally stern looking and seemingly humorless philosopher. In light of the man’s grand claims about pleasure, cheerfulness, and friendly conviviality, we would expect him to look somewhat more jovial. In fact, Diogenes of Oenoanda points out that is completely wrongheaded to depict the gods as forbidding figures and suggests that the faces of their statues should smile down upon people (fr. 19.2.6–11). This statement makes it even more puzzling that the Epicureans depicted Epicurus as a stern-faced man. Perhaps this is the kind of σύννοια that Philodemus is talking about when he says that people sometimes misjudge the sage on account of his brooding countenance. 63 D.L. 10.8. 64 E.g. Athen., Deipn. 12.547A; Plut., Adv. Col. 1124E; Lat. viv. 1129B (= Epic. fr. 512 Us.); Plut., Non posse 1098CD (= fr. 41 K.); 1100D; Adv. Col. 1125D. 65 E.g. Ira 1.20–27; 48.36–49.4; Piet. 40.1139–41.1161, not to mention fundamentally polemical works such as Adversus eos qui se libros nosse profitentur and De Stoicis. 66 Cf. Roskam (2011), 34. 67 Lib. dic. 20b.

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friends into embittered enemies might hint at whichever events transpired between Epicurus and Timocrates. (5) Lastly, they might fall afoul of servants who had done wrong (δούλοις περίπτωσις ἁμαρτωλοῖς). Voula Tsouna translates this part as follows: ‘And he may even be held responsible for the irascible behaviour of his servants’,68 and, as such, she connects it with Philodemus’ argument in De superbia.69 However, an alternative reading might be possible. In my view, Philodemus is rather saying that, as a result of his natural, and therapeutically employed anger, the sage risks being hated by some of his own servants, if these have a disposition that does not cope with criticism very well. Epicurus may have held the view that one should pity one’s servants, rather than to punish them,70 but that does not mean that the sage, ‘tamer of men’ as he is,71 will not reprimand his servants when they go astray. There is no reason not to use frank criticism on servants, and, in some cases, we presume, actual punishment may also be necessary. Yet, excessive or unnecessary punishment is certainly to be avoided.72 Bearing in mind that the irascible person becomes hated and friendless and is very likely to fall prey to violence at the hands of his wronged slaves, Philodemus is admitting that even the sage is human enough not to be entirely free from the risk of suffering a much milder version of the irascible person’s fate. This is a very big concession on Philodemus’ part, and it shows how much he felt the need to set apart a highly realistic Epicurean philosophy against the superhumanly perfect ideal of the emotionally unmovable Stoic sage, by which Nicasicrates’ heterodox version of Epicurean ethics may have been influenced.73 In this passage, then, Philodemus tries to demonstrate that even the sage is fallible and, above all, deeply human. He defends his conceptualization of the sage against the accusation of irascibility, but at the same time, he refutes the essentially Stoic position that the sage should be some sort of superhuman who is completely free of spontaneous human emotions and mistakes.

68 69 70 71 72 73

Tsouna (2007), 220. Tsouna (2007), 220, n. 78. D.L. 10.118. Lib dic. fr. 87N.5–6: τόν γε σοφὸν ἀνθρωποδάμνην ὄντα. Philodemus vividly describes the unpleasant consequences of abusing one’s slaves in De ira 24.17–36. See section 5.2.2.2, where we discussed Nicasicrates’ claims on the painfulness of natural anger.

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7.1.3 The Arrogant Sage Next, we will take a look at De superbia:74 To certain things (sc. accusations)/persons (sc. accusers), I do not even respond.75 For I observe that, although, sometimes, there are no similarities (sc. between the arrogant person and the sage) (θεωρῶ γὰρ οὐδ᾿ ὁμοιοτήτων ἐνίοτ’ οὐσῶν), some people image certain futilities (ἐνίους ἔνια δοξάζοντας ἀέρι[α]) [three words missing] and hostility [one word missing] and envy [one line missing] I know that they say [one line missing] they might have as a starting-point the disdain in himself towards everything/everyone that is unphilosophical (ἐν ἑαυτῷ καταφρόνησιν ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου). And the reproach [one line missing] foolishness [one line missing] the reception [one line missing] for man. [one word missing] their intercourse and dignity, of their countenance as well as of their whole life: these things are visible, because it befits sensible people, and because [one line missing], they suppose that the philosopher is such a person. But it is not the man who has these things (sc. the outer semblance of arrogance), who is called arrogant, but he who is manifestly disdainful, and who treats everyone with insolence, in those cases where he also maintains his arrogance in his actions, and who is completely of the sort that this character sketch demonstrates (καὶ λέγεται δ᾿ ὑπερήφανος οὐχ ὁ ταῦτ᾿ ἔχων, ἀλλ᾿ ὁ φαινόμενος καταφρονητικὸς καὶ πάντων, ὅπου φυλάττει τὴν ὑπερηφανίαν καὶ διὰ τῶν ἔργων, ὑβριστὴς καὶ καθόλου τοιοῦτος, οἷον ὁ χαρακτὴρ ἀπεσάφει). Clearly, Philodemus is very much aware of the fact that the sage can easily fall prey to ungrounded accusations of arrogance. Despite his courteous and amiable behavior, the sage tends to be careful not to become too close with morally dubious people, who might damage his own ἀταραξία in some way or another. We should keep in mind the warning not to accept the friendship of those who are suspiciously eager to become friends,76 as well as Philodemus’ comment that the Epicurean property manager should not be personally involved in the work on his lands, so as to avoid having too many dealings with ‘men from whom many disagreeable things follow’.77 Even though the 74 Sup. 6.2–35. 75 This is, of course, a classic praeteritio, although, as is also the case in the other, seemingly apologetic treatises, Philodemus avoids telling us who these accusers might be. 76 SV 28. 77 Oec. 23.8–14.

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Epicureans extoll friendship78 and are always keen on making new friends,79 they are most certainly aware of the danger in consorting with the wrong kind of people. An Epicurean like Philodemus would be as courteous as he could towards, let us say, a man like Catilina, depraved aristocrat par excellence in Late Republican Rome,80 if he should chance to meet him at some occasion, but he would almost certainly avoid approaching such a character of his own accord. Instead, he would, in all likelihood, try to maintain some distance, which might, indeed, be perceived as arrogance by some. In the Roman Late Republic, where political friendships and alliances are a key mechanism of society, cautiously declining an offer of friendship, even if it is done in the most courteous of ways, may already be perceived as a serious slight. As a result, the hapless Epicurean may not only get rid of an unwanted prospective friend, but may even gain a powerful enemy. Moreover, we should bear in mind that Epicurus encouraged his followers to claim sagehood for themselves rather than to wait around for anyone else to proclaim them sages.81 Although this bold statement is, in all likelihood, an unavoidable consequence of the Epicurean premise that all natural goods are easy to acquire, it was most certainly considered highly scandalous by the rest of the world. Even the famous Seven Sages were, after all, given that prestigious title posthumously and by other people. According to Cicero, Epicurus was, in fact, the very first person to claim sagehood for himself.82 The dignity (σεμνότης) of the wise Epicurean’s behavior and way of life as a self-proclaimed sage, then, may very well have been perceived as an instance of outrageous arrogance. Also of great interest is what Philodemus has to say about the role of slaves and servants in these accusations of arrogance:83 πρόνοιαν δ᾿ ἔχειν καὶ πε[ρὶ] τῶν οἰκετῶν [καὶ] τῶν ὑπηρετούντων ἐ[λε]υθέρων ἢ συνόντων ἄλλων· ἐνίοτε γὰρ οὗτοι τῆς φαντασίας αἴτιοι γίνονται προσαγγέλλειν οὐ θέλοντες ἢ `σ´κορακί[ζοντε]ς ἢ τι τοιοῦτον ἐ[πιλέγον]τ[ες· καὶ ο]ὐκ εὐχερέ[ς ἐ]σ[τι τὸ] πείθειν, ὡς οὐκ ἐκεῖνος αἴτιος, ἂν καὶ συναίσθηται τὸ γινόμε[νον]

78 79 80 81 82 83

See, for example, KD 27–28 and SV 52. Elect. et fugae 22.5–7. That is, of course, if we are to believe the testimonies of Cicero and Sallust. See section 2.2.1. Cic., Fin. 2.7. Sup. 9.24–37. The text of lines 24–33 has been drawn from Indelli (2010), that of the remaining lines from Jensen (1911).

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He (sc. The sage) takes care of his household slaves and his servants, freeborn or other household members; for these are sometimes the cause of the appearance (sc. that the sage is arrogant), when they are unwilling to announce a visitor, or tell him to go to hell, or utter something of that sort; and it is not easy to persuade (that person) of the fact that he himself is not at fault, if he is only just learning what has happened This passage interestingly shows that it is not only through his own actions that the sage can involuntarily give the impression of being arrogant. Problematic behavior on the part of his servants may also prove harmful to his reputation. This brings us to the issue of slaves and servants, and the way in which they should be managed.84 Philodemus seems inclined to keep them in check and shows himself to be aware of the dangers that might accrue from being too lax. He may have had Theophrastus’ character sketch of the arrogant man in mind, when pointing out how servants might make their master look arrogant. For a prominent characteristic of Theophrastus’ arrogant man is that he prefers to delegate matters to his servants, rather than to deal with friends and associates in person.85 Philodemus clearly believes that when it comes to one’s slaves, πρόνοιαν ἔχειν is the most prudent course of action, considering that it is very difficult to remedy the damage that has been inflicted to one’s own reputation if one does not even know how it has been damaged in the first place. The sage, then, needs to take the necessary precautions to avoid the aforementioned scenarios:86 [ἵνα μὴ τοὺς ἄλλους ἀτ]ιμάζειν δοκῇ μ[ὴ συμφ]ωνῶν ἢ μὴ φιλοπιστευόμενος ἢ μὴ δι᾿ ἐντε[ύ]ξεως εὐχα[ρι]στῶν, οἷς [δέ]ον τὴν ἐλάττωσιν ἐμφανίζει[ν] κα[ὶ συγγ]νόμην αἰτεῖ[σ]θαι, μ[ά]λιστα δὲ ἀεί τινας ἔχειν μεθ᾿ αὑτοῦ φίλους, οἳ [συνε]θίζονται. so as not to give the impression that he insults (people) when he disagrees with them, or when he does not confide in them as in friends, or when in a meeting he does not show gratitude, he acknowledges his imperfection to whom it is necessary, apologizes, and, above all, he always has some friends with him who are accustomed to him. 84 See also section 8.3. 85 Theophr., Char. 24.9–10: καὶ ἑστιῶν τοὺς φίλους αὐτὸς μὴ συνδειπνεῖν ἀλλὰ τῶν ὑφ᾿ αὑτον τινι συντάξαι αὐτῶν ἐπιμελεῖσθαι: ‘When he gives a dinner for his friends he does not dine with them but tells one of his employees to look after them (transl. Diggle (2004))’. 86 Sup. 10.1–10. Text by Indelli (2010), with slightly modified punctuation.

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It is difficult to keep out of trouble when some people are so prickly that they might take offense if the sage simply disagrees with them or does not treat them as he would treat his friends. The best way to avoid unwarranted accusations of arrogance, so Philodemus points out, is to be as unassuming as one possibly can and to surround oneself with real friends, who can vouch for one’s good character and who will come to one’s protection whenever the need arises. 7.2

Structural Comparison

One immediately notices that the apologetic passages in De adulatione and De superbia are structured in a very similar way, as the following table illustrates. In what follows, I will continuously refer to this table.

1. There are accusations or similarity 2. But this similarity does not exist 3. Yet, some people have the false opinion that they do 4. Hostility and envy are apparently a motivation for (some of) these accusers 5. The grounds upon which this false opinion is constructed 6. Contrary to these beliefs, the sage is in reality a paragon of virtue and wisdom

De adulatione 2

De superbia 6

ἔσονταί τινες ὁμοιότητεςa

τισὶν δὲ οὐδ᾿ ἀντικόπτω

ὁ δὲ σοφὸς ὅμοιον μὲν οὐδὲν προσοίσεται κόλακι παρέξει δέ τισιν ὑπονόιαν ὡς ἔστι τοιοῦτος Cf. (8).

οὐδ᾿ ὁμοιοτήτων ἐνίοτ᾿ οὐσῶν ἐνίους ἔνια δοξάζοντας ἀέρια … … καὶ δυσμένεια … καὶ φθόνος …b

ὅτι κηλεῖ φρένας οὕτως ὃν τρό- ἀφορμὴν τήν τε ἐν ἑαυτῷ πον οὐδ᾿ αἱ μυθικαὶ Σειρῆνες καταφρόνησιν ἅπαντος τοῦ χυδαίου …c Cf. (11). καὶ περὶ ἠθῶν ἐνκατασκευὴν προσκαθαρτικὸς ὁρᾶται καὶ τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐπαινετικὸς σοφίας

a Considering that the previous line is missing, I am reluctant to draw any conclusions from this half line, other than that there is mention of an alleged similarity. b This section of the papyrus is very badly preserved. c More text follows, but these lines are very fragmentary.

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(cont.)

7. M  oreover, he even actively opposes those who suffer from the vice of which he himself is wrongfully accused

8. = 4. Envy is a factor 9. People effectively slander the sage

10. The false accusations are constructed on appearance, rather than actions

11. = 6. The sage is in reality a paragon of virtue and wisdom

De adulatione 2

De superbia 6

διαπρέπει δὲ καὶ κακίας διακρίνας ἢ τὰς παρ᾿ ἡμῖν ἢ πάσας μάλιστα δὴ τῶν ἀνθρώπων τοὺς κόλακας ἐκδιώκει, καὶ πολύς ἐστι κατατρέχων τῆς διαθέσεως αὐτῶν καὶ τῶν ὑπαρχόντων πόλλ᾿ ἀπολαυστὰ διδόασιν αὐτῷ καὶ συγγενεῖς ἐνίων καὶ συνήθεις προτιμώμενον ὁρῶντες ἀποδιδόασιν αὐτὸν ὡς κόλακα N/A

N/A

Cf. (6).

Cf. (4). φανερὰ δὲ ταῦτα, διότι προσήκει τοῖς φρονοῦσιν καὶ ὑπολαμβάνουσιν τοιοῦτον εἶναι τὸν φιλόσοφον καὶ λέγεται δ᾿ ὑπερήφανος οὐχ ὁ ταῦτ᾿ ἔχων, ἀλλ᾿ ὁ φαινόμενος καταφρονητικὸς καὶ πάντων, ὅπου φυλάττει τὴν ὑπερηφανίαν καὶ διὰ τῶν ἔργων, ὑβριστὴς καὶ καθόλου τοιοῦτος, οἷον ὁ χαρακτὴρ ἀπεσάφει πλείστην δ᾿ ὁ σοφός …d

d Philodemus now enumerates a number of ways in which the sage succeeds where the arrogant person goes wrong. We get the gist of what he is trying to say, but the Greek text is, unfortunately, rather fragmentary here, which is why I have chosen not to cite it in full.

In both treatises, Philodemus acknowledges that there are – or, at least, that people think that there are – certain similarities between the sage and the flatterer or the arrogant person (1). The core concept here is the alleged ὁμοιότης, which is, in reality, completely non-existent (2). Yet, this suffices for certain people to get the idea that the sage suffers from these vices (3). Philodemus’ terminology makes it perfectly clear that we are talking about false opinions. We are dealing with mere suspicion (ὑπόνοια),87 with claims that are, literally, 87

The verb ὑπονοέω is quite consistently associated with false suppositions in Philodemus’ writings: e.g. M. 115.28; Bon. rex 5.37; Piet. 42.1190–1199.

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no more substantial than thin air. Clearly, we are far removed from the ideal of δόξα ὀρθή, an epistemologically sound opinion. After this point, the order in which some elements are mentioned is slightly different in either treatise. In De superbia, we are at this stage already informed that hostility and envy can be identified as emotions that motivate the sage’s accusers (4), while in De adulatione, this element is introduced later on (8). In both texts, Philodemus proceeds to name the empirical basis upon which the accusers build their allegations, respectively the sage’s charming way of speaking, and his tendency to look down upon those who are not living in accordance with Epicurean doctrine (5). In what follows, Philodemus once again introduces various concepts in a different order in either of his treatises. In De adulatione, he immediately contrasts the sage with the flatterer: unlike the latter, the sage purifies humanity, preaches wisdom, and, being a doctor of the soul, singles out vices within all human beings (6). Moreover, rather than being a flatterer himself, he actually opposes those who are and hunts them down so as to be able to cure their diseased mental disposition (7). Having said this, Philodemus returns to the matter of the accusations against the sage: out of gratitude for his services, the sage receives many gifts from those whom he has helped (8), which causes the friends and relatives of that person to become jealous (9). In this section, the element of envy, which was, as we have seen, also a factor in De superbia (4), is finally introduced in De adulatione as well.88 In De adulatione, these jealous relatives of the sage’s patient are the ones who readily jump to conclusions about the imagined similarities between the sage and the flatterer, leading them to publicly accuse the sage of flattery. In De superbia, we do not learn that much about the identity of the accusers: Philodemus only says that they eventually judge that they have sufficient grounds to suppose that the sage is arrogant, based on the ‘evidence’ which has previously been discussed. (9). It is only after this that Philodemus proceeds to contrast the sage with the arrogant person (10–11), as he has already done in the case of the sage and the flatterer (6–7). As in De adulatione, this section is divided in two parts. In the first part we read that the sage is wrongly accused of arrogance on the mere basis of appearance. However, this is an unsound basis: the proper way to distinguish the arrogant person from the sage is to look at their actions, rather than their appearance (10). In the second part of this section, 88

Or, at least, something very close to envy is introduced here. The jealousy of the accusers in De adulatione seems to correspond to Philodemus’ concept of ζηλοτυπία, rather than to that of φθόνος, although both are, no doubt, closely related. Philodemus also associates ζηλοτυπία with the behavior of flatterers and servants vying for the attention of the master of the house (Adul. PHerc. 1675.12.17ff).

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then, Philodemus begins to enumerate the many qualities which the sage demonstrates in his social interactions, emphasizing how he excels where the arrogant person has been shown to fail miserably. He does not take others for fools, nor does he overestimate himself, especially when it comes to things that accrue from fortune, by which he is largely unmoved. He gives people a warm welcome, is highly sociable and a good conversationalist. He does not disdain others, and has a correct grasp of the mechanism of giving and receiving help, and showing gratitude in a proper way, a topic upon which Philodemus wrote his treatise De gratia. These two apologetical sections are clearly structured in a very similar, yet not entirely identical way. Beyond the first three steps of either apology, Philodemus introduces some elements in a different order and even adds one unique element to either treatise ((7) and (10)). These first three steps are, however, the nucleus of the entire apology. From the very start, they present the situation as an example of a failure to apply the core principles of epistemology. They refer to the opinion of certain people (1), which is based on the perception of a certain similarity (2). Yet, these perceived similarities do not really exist (3) and, as a result, the accusers, who clearly failed to verify their perceptions, are slandering the sage on the basis of a false opinion. In the next section, we will explore the epistemological dimension in greater detail. To conclude this section, however, we first have to take a look at De ira as well. Although this treatise’s apologetic theme is clearly very similar to that of both other texts, its structure is not. This may partly be due to the fact that it belongs to another multivolume collection than the other two texts, but it is, in all likelihood, also a consequence of the fact that there is a different argumentative project at stake. In De adulatione and De superbia, Philodemus is providing his Epicurean readers with a possible defense against those who would accuse them of a certain vice. His ultimate goal, then, is to demonstrate that, contrary to what people may or may not believe, this vice is, in fact, completely alien to the Epicurean sage. In De ira, however, Philodemus needs to navigate a crucial distinction between natural anger and empty anger and, as a result, also between a vice-free angry disposition and one that is afflicted by the vice of irascibility. Philodemus’ polemical opponents are Nicasicrates and the Stoics, according to whom the sage should be free from vices and intense emotions to such an extent that even natural anger is taken away from him. The repercussion of accepting that natural anger is always harmful would be grave. Either the sage experiences anger, but harms himself in the process, as Nicasicrates problematically claimed,89 or he never feels any anger, meaning 89 Ira 37.4–7.

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that those who do are no real sages at all. The latter option would mean that a lot of venerable wise Epicureans, among whom not in the least Epicurus himself, and, judging from Cicero’s testimony,90 Philodemus’ beloved teacher Zeno of Sidon, would all of a sudden lose their status as Epicurean sages, on account of their well-attested tendency to occasionally display short bursts of natural anger. In light of their deeply ingrained veneration for the Garden’s founding fathers, it is easy to see how orthodox Epicureans like Philodemus would be very unwilling to follow in the footsteps of the Stoics, for whom even Zeno of Citium, the founder of their school, was a mere προκόπτων, instead of a fully fletched sage.91 In sum, what Philodemus must attempt in this passage of De ira, is to establish both that the sage can indeed become angry at times and that this does not harm him in any serious way. Yet, in order to demonstrate that a sage who is capable of anger does not suffer from the vice of irascibility, he also has to differentiate between the appearance of irascibility, that the sage may sometimes give, on one hand, and his actual state, on the other. The apologetical argument against (imaginary) opponents who might accuse the sage of irascibility on account of a perceived similarity between his own character and that of the irascible person, is certainly present in this passage, but it is imbedded within this section’s larger argumentative project of defending the notion of a sage who may experience natural anger, against Nicasicrates’ heterodoxy.92 7.3

The Epistemological Dimension

7.3.1 General Principles It may be significative that Philodemus uses the term φαντασία in De ira and De superbia, a concept that is firmly rooted in Epicurean epistemology. Therefore, it may be useful to consider the cases of the sage being mistaken for an irascible or arrogant person against this epistemological background.93 For the 90 Cic., Tusc. 3.28. 91 Cf. Sext. Emp., M. 7.433. 92 It should be noted that the treatise also includes a refutation of certain misguided Epicureans, claiming to be ἐπικούρειοι βιβλιακοί (45.19), ‘textbook Epicureans’, who, apparently, claimed that the sage is capable of very intense rage (44.35–50.8). Yet, even they would not call the sage ‘irascible’: in their opinion, he can experience intense rage, in addition to the mild and short outbursts of anger, advocated by Philodemus, but even this ‘rage’ is natural anger and not the empty anger that is typically felt by irascible people: cf. Armstrong – McOsker (2020), 77–80. 93 Epicurean epistemology has drawn immense amounts of scholarly attention, and not in the least with regard to the Epicurean concept of prolepsis. Some outstanding discussions

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Epicureans, all sense-impressions (αἰσθήσεις) are true,94 and together with preconceptions (προλήψεις) and feelings (πάθη) they are the criteria of the truth.95 With our senses, we perceive appearances, or φαντασίαι, which are all true, qua φαντασίαι. Yet, of one and the same object, we might perceive different, mutually conflicting appearances. An oar that is partly submersed below the water surface may appear curved to our eyes, while by touching it, we can feel that it is straight.96 A tower may seem round when seen from afar, but can turn out to be square when we draw near to it.97 In the first case, conflicting impressions are conveyed to us through our different senses, while in the second case, one and the same sense provides us with conflicting impressions at different times. In both examples, every single one of these appearances is true, in the sense that it is truly perceived by our senses, but that does not necessarily mean that they both correspond to the actual state of the object itself. Based on a first φαντασία that is presented to us, we form a provisional opinion about the represented object, the species expressa in Gassendi’s terminology,98 which may or may not be correct, after which further perceptions, and a process of ἐπιμαρτύρησις or ἀντιμαρτύρησις will have to rule out whether our provisional opinion is verified or falsified.99 However, before any of this can take place, we automatically connect the φαντασία to a relevant πρόληψις, already stored in our mind as the product of previous sensory impressions. If we see Plato approaching from afar,100 based on the similarities between the figure we see and our preconception of Plato, we mentally designate this particular preconception as potentially relevant for this φαντασία.101 Precognitions can range from very simple notions up to the kind of highly complex combinations of properties needed to describe a specific person.102 on this, and related topics can be found in Glidden (1985); Long – Sedley (1987), 83–86; Asmis (1984); (1999); Hahmann (2015); Tsouna (2016); Németh (2017), 27–48 and Striker (2020), to name only a few. 94 D.L. 10.31–32. 95 D.L. 10.31–34. 96 Long – Sedley (1987), 84; Hahmann (2015), 169; Striker (2020), 45. 97 DRN 4.353–363; Sext. Emp., M. 7.208. 98 The φαντασία, on the other hand, is denoted with the term species impressa (cf. Gassendi (1658), Syntagma philosophicum 405b). 99 D.L. 10.34. 100 This example is borrowed from Sext. Emp., M. 7.212. 101 It is ‘potentially relevant’ because it is still conceivable that the figure, in whom we believe to recognize Plato, may turn out to be someone else who looks a lot like him from afar. As soon as this new appearance is received, we will obviously select another precognition from our inventory. 102 Asmis (1999), 277.

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Even though we have no real textual evidence for this, I take it that one and the same perceived appearance can put several of our preconceptions into play at the same time. If we perceive Plato on a horse, it seems reasonable that we will need to use our πρόληψις of Plato, as well as that of ‘horse’. If not, then how would we even be able to think or say that in this particular φαντασία, Plato is sitting on a horse, considering that, according to Epicurus, we cannot think about something, nor give it a name, without being able to rely on a preconception of that object?103 Based on similarity between the incoming sensory impressions and the physical traces of past sense-perceptions, already ingrained in our minds, the relevant traces are triggered, thus enabling the process of πρόληψις, which in turn provides us with a τύπος to which we can anchor semantic content pertaining to that τύπος᾿s corresponding object of perception.104 In the case of Plato on a horse, then, it seems likely that τύποι of both Plato and the horse need to be produced, in order for us to think or speak about the perceived image of Plato sitting on a horse. Yet, this may still be an oversimplification of matters: we know that all things, including more abstract concepts, such as justice, god, friendship, need to have a πρόληψις in our minds, for us to even be able to connect these names to their corresponding concept, or to name whatever it is that we are perceiving. I believe that Németh is correct in pointing out that the τύποι produced by prolepsis should not necessarily be restricted to images, but that they can also take on the form of ‘impressions of general characteristics open to linguistic interpretation’.105 In De ira, Philodemus provides an excellent illustration of a preconception of such an abstract concept. Here, he mentions the existence of a πρόληψις of anger:106 τοῖς καθηγεμόσιν οὐ τὸ κατ[ὰ] τὴν πρόληψιν [τ]αύτην θυμωθήσεσθαι τὸν σο[φ]όν, ἀλλὰ τὸ κατὰ τὴν κοι[ν]οτέραν. The Founders accept the idea that “the wise man will be enraged” (θυμωθήσεσθαι), not according to that preconception, but according to the more general one. His point here is that, apparently, some Epicureans misunderstood the words of the Garden’s founding fathers by connecting their notion of an enraged wise 103 D.L. 10.33. 104 D.L. 10.33. Cf. Németh (2017), 32. 105 Németh (2017), 46. 106 Ira 45.1–5; transl. Armstrong – McOsker (2020).

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man, to the preconception of intense anger (θυμός in Philodemus’ terminology), while they should have connected it to the preconception of temperate anger (ὀργή), which must have been what the first Epicureans intended, according to Philodemus. Clearly, what these Epicureans are struggling with is a semantic issue, which is, however, completely tied up with our preconceptions, since preconception is the mechanism that anchors language to the objects it means to denote. In the same way that there is a preconception of anger, we are also able to have a preconception of vices like arrogance, flattery, or irascibility. 7.3.2 Perception of the ‘Arrogant’ or ‘Irascible’ Sage So, when we see a person, whom we will call Siro, and whom we know to be an Epicurean sage, behaving in an apparently arrogant or irascible way, it is very likely that this will not only trigger our πρόληψις of Siro, but also that of ‘arrogance’/‘irascibility’ or ‘the arrogant/irascible person’, in the same way that the notion of an enraged sage also taps into the preconception of θυμός or ὀργή. If the observer goes through a correct epistemological process, he will indeed perceive arrogance and may on that basis voice the provisional judgement that Siro is arrogant. Yet, if he is a prudent observer, he will be aware of the provisional nature of this judgement and try to verify or falsify it through further sensory evidence. If Siro is a proper Epicurean sage, the observer may receive new appearances that enable him to establish the falsity of his former judgement, which he will then replace with the correct judgement that Siro may at times appear arrogant or irascible, but that this does not correspond to his actual character. Yet, the observer could fail to follow this course of action, jumping to conclusions instead. In such a case, he could immediately voice the definitive judgement that Siro is arrogant, without checking this opinion against other perceptions. This is indeed dangerous, since this could have consequences for the observer’s πρόληψις of Siro. Considering that πρόληψις is a sort of apprehension, correct opinion or notion,107 and that our preconceptions are continuously confirmed and updated through the incoming flow of new impressions,108 we may probably assume that verified opinions about sense-impressions will be allowed to impact an existing preconception. After all, sense-perceptions like that of a seemingly solid rainbow, which are true qua sense-perception, but which lead to a provisional opinion that can, on further sensory evidence, be rejected as untrue, can hardly be allowed to influence our preconception of ‘rainbow’. The provisional opinion that the sage is arrogant is in itself relatively harmless 107 D.L. 10.33. 108 Asmis (1999), 277.

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(as is the notion of a solid rainbow), provided that it is consequently checked against further sensory evidence on the sage’s behavior and character, after which it must be rejected. Yet, if the observer fails to seek verification for his first opinion, immediately judging it to be correct, it may very well be allowed to corrupt the pre-existing notion of that sage in the observer’s mind. That way, the observer’s prolepsis of Siro may very well be updated with the property ‘arrogant’ or ‘irascible’. This creates a serious problem, since these negative properties are very much at odds with the property ‘Epicurean sage’, which was already there. Either the latter will be revoked, and Siro will lose his status as Epicurean sage in the observer’s mind, or, what would be even worse, all properties are retained, and a situation is created in which, in defiance of all reason, being an Epicurean sage and being arrogant and/or irascible are simply considered to be complementary. Although it would probably lead us too far to continue going down this particular rabbit hole, it is needless to say that all of this could have grave consequences for the observer’s preconception of Siro, and perhaps even for his preconception of the Epicurean sage in general.109 In terms of practical ethics, then, such faulty preconceptions might give rise to the circulation of ungrounded misconceptions about the Epicureans at large, which could eventually ruin their reputation in potentially harmful ways. People’s preconceptions of key concepts, such as the good life, the gods, death, etc. are already harmfully diseased as it is: the Epicurean therapeutic project would hardly benefit from the creation of even more corrupted preconceptions, this time pertaining to the Epicurean philosophers themselves.

109 Although the relatively scanty information that the Epicurean texts offer us on the exact workings of πρόληψις does not specify this, it seems reasonable that sensory information added to the preconception of Siro, who is a sage, can in certain situations be passed on to the more general preconception of the sage. After all, it is based on multiple sensory impressions of particular objects that we acquire a preconception of the general sort of object of which these particulars are subspecies. The preconception ‘dog’ is not constructed from repeated perceptions of some sort of ‘universal’ dog, which obviously does not exist, but on those of many different dogs in all shapes, sizes and colors, allowing us to retain the properties that all these different dogs have in common as relevant properties for the preconception of ‘dog’. The things that we learn about Siro, the Epicurean sage, cannot be ignored as useful information for the further construction of the preconception of ‘Epicurean sage’. On a side note, one may well wonder exactly how complex and nuanced properties may become while still relevant for a certain πρόληψις. It is difficult to believe that Epicurus, defender of a qualifying type of philosophy, would not have considered the problems involved in constructing a preconception of something as multilayered as a human being, on the basis of nothing else than universally valid properties.

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7.3.3 Perception of the ‘Flattering’ Sage To conclude, I would like to re-examine the apologetic passage in De adulatione, which has already been discussed with regard to its relationship with Cicero’s In Pisonem. Yet, this time, I will try to consider it against the above discussed epistemological background and to compare it with the passages in De ira and De superbia. I hereby cite the relevant passage in De adulatione once again:110 The sage will not at all behave like the flatterer, but he will offer some the suspicion that he is in fact such a one (ὁ δὲ σοφὸς ὅμοιον μ[ὲν] οὐδὲν προσοίσεται κόλα[κι,] παρέξει δέ τισιν ὑπόνοιαν [ὡς] ἐστι τοιοῦτος), precisely because he charms the mind in a way that not even the mythical Sirens can. There is a significant difference between the defense in De adulatione and De superbia on the one hand, and the one in De ira on the other: whereas Philodemus acknowledges that the sage may sometimes respond angrily when he should not, he definitely does not admit that the sage behaves arrogantly, nor that he sometimes flatters people. As we have seen, the sage is not infallible, will sometimes get angry, and even rebuke students who did nothing to deserve such a treatment. Philodemus is not at all reluctant to allow his sage to experience natural anger. That is, in fact, an important point that he tries to make, in order to distance his own very feasible idea of a thoroughly human sage from the Stoicizing tendencies of the heterodox Nicasicrates, according to whom, apparently, the Epicurean sage should not feel any type of anger at all. Irascibility, however, interpreted as a disposition that invites empty anger, is something that Philodemus holds to be completely alien to the sage. Yet, although Philodemus admits that the sage can get angry sometimes, the φαντασία of an irascible sage is still nothing more than a φαντασία, which is true qua φαντασία (species impressa), but which does not accurately reflect the state of the sage himself (species expressa). As a result, the provisional δόξα ‘the sage is angry’ can be verified and corroborated by further sense impressions, whereas the provisional δόξα ‘the sage is irascible’ will prove to be false. The accusations of arrogance and flattery, however, are an entirely different matter: here Philodemus makes no such concessions. Yes, the sage might sometimes appear to be arrogant or a flatterer, but this is nothing more than mere appearance, and, especially in the case of flattery, very often the result of accusations by jealous people. If someone claims that the sage is arrogant, 110 Adul. PHerc. 222.2.1–7; transl. Yona (2018a).

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that person is simply making absurd claims. At best, he is mistaking an aversion towards vile things and people for arrogance. If someone claims that the sage is a flatterer, he is, at best, deceived by the sage’s talents as a teacher, or, what is far worse, either misled by slander or an envious slanderer himself. The arrogant person tends to trigger those who have an envious disposition and who are wont to spread all sorts of slander about whomever they envy. Yet, the sage, too, may occasionally attract the attention of envious slanderers if he gets close with people of higher social standing. Of course, the sage does not boast about his good relationship with the rich and powerful and will, as a result, attract less negative attention than the arrogant fool. Furthermore, he is less influenced by the element of chance, on which the arrogant person is very dependent, whereas the sage continuously tries to minimize its sway over his life.111 The arrogant person and the sage will both make enemies out of envious people (although the arrogant person will, no doubt, deliberately provoke them, while the sage will try to avoid this), and if they meet with adversity, they will both be treated with malicious joy by people who have that kind of disposition. Yet, the arrogant person, so Philodemus believes, will be the only one to feel the full impact of this enmity and his bad luck, whereas the sage will be shielded from this by his many friends. Philodemus seems to be particularly careful when it comes to the accusation of flattery, which may have been of great interest to him personally in light of Cicero’s invectives in the In Pisonem, as I have argued above. Judging by Philodemus’ apology, the sage does not even provide the φαντασία of being a flatterer. He only raises suspicion in some people. The former is a perception, and as such true in itself, although, of course, this does not necessarily mean that the species impressa of a misbehaving sage corresponds completely to the actual species expressa. If some people deduce from the species impressa that the sage himself is arrogant or irascible, they are simply jumping to conclusions on the sole basis of this φαντασία, neglecting to apply reason to their perceptions. Yet, in the case of flattery, which is a far more tricky type of allegation, Philodemus seems unwilling to admit explicitly that even the φαντασία of a flattering sage can exist. The mistake made by those who would call the sage a flatterer lies exclusively in their own epistemological process: they interpret the φαντασία of the sage’s charming (and not necessarily flattering!) behavior incorrectly and derive nothing more solid from it than the 111 The Epicureans strongly believed that the agency of chance should always be reduced to an absolute minimum. This view is well attested: cf. Epic., Ep. Men. 133–135; Diog. Oen. fr. 71 I–II (Hammerstaedt – Smith (2018)). See also Verde (2013) and Heßler (2014), 294–324.

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mere suspicion (ὑπόνοια) that he might be a flatterer. If there is any φαντασία at all, it is one of a sage who speaks in charming fashion, and who receives gifts from those with whom he converses. These are elements which the sage has in common with the flatterer, as ought to be taken into account by one’s πρόληψις of both types of persons. Distinctive traits, however, are the sage’s truthfulness versus the flatterer’s unconditional commitment to speaking pleasantly, as well as the sage’s sincere concern for friends and students versus the flatterer’s ruthless self-interestedness. The ὑπόνοια of the sage’s slanderers, then, is a fake δόξα or ὑπολήψις, and is the result of neglecting to process actual sense perceptions in a rational way. Those who would accuse the sage of arrogance or irascibility may have made a mistake in failing to verify (ἐπιμαρτύρησις) or falsify (ἀντιμαρτύρησις) their sense perceptions, but those who accuse the sage of flattery seem to have botched the process entirely, erroneously connecting one species impressa to the concept of an unrelated species expressa. 7.4

Conclusion

It would seem, then, that Philodemus’ apologetic paragraphs go well beyond the seemingly trivial issue of ‘keeping up appearances’, so to speak, and touch upon some fundamental epistemological problems. If, indeed, perceptions are the yardstick of truth, then, for an Epicurean living among people who do not necessarily wield this yardstick correctly, it is of the utmost importance not to be careless about the appearance that he gives. Of course, the primary responsibility for the sort of perceptional mistakes that could burden a perfectly virtuous Epicurean sage with the undeserved reputation of vice lies with carelessly judgmental observers, foolish χυδαῖοι who jump to conclusions on the insufficient basis of a single impression. Yet, the Epicurean himself is no less guilty of neglecting his own safety and happiness if he does not make an effort to minimize the risk of giving a negative appearance. Ideally, of course, he does not give any appearance at all to χυδαῖοι, living an unnoticed life among people who know better than to take false δόξα for truth. It is, however, characteristic of Epicurus’ down-to-earth mindset that he already anticipated that the ideal of a completely unnoticed and inoffensive life is not always entirely feasible. This might explain his statement that the wise man will not relapse towards the opposite διάθεσις, not even in semblance, if he can avoid it.112 This proviso, typical of Epicurus’ qualifying philosophy, indicates 112 D.L. 10.117: ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸν ἅπαξ γενόμενον σοφὸν μηκέτι τὴν ἐναντίαν λαμβάνειν διάθεσιν μηδὲ πλάττειν ἑκόντα.

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that Epicurus was not only aware of the danger of falsely appearing vicious instead of wise, but that he also acknowledged that people will still sometimes get the wrong impression, in spite of the sage’s best efforts. In sum, it would seem that Epicurus’ advice ‘to pay just enough attention to one’s reputation so as not to be looked down upon’ should never be ignored.113 The above discussed passages show that Philodemus realized the relevance of his master’s precious advice all too well. 113 D.L. 10.120.

Chapter 8

The Sage’s Livelihood φιλόσοφος δ᾿ οὔτ᾿ ἐργάζεται, κυρίως εἰπεῖν Philodemus, Oec. 11.16–17

∵ 8.1

Introduction

Much has already been said about the sage’s livelihood at this point. In previous chapters we have already discussed the sage’s activities as a teacher, who receives gifts from his students as a token of their enduring gratitude (chapter four). We have also studied how the landowning sage draws upon his knowledge of a non-expert version of the τέχνη of property management and how he spends the income from his estates for the sake of his many friends (chapter three). As a result, there is little need to provide an exhaustive discussion of the modalities of the sage’s livelihood. Instead, this chapter will explore a number of aspects of Philodemus’ view on Epicurean landownership which have hitherto received little or no scholarly attention. The first part of this chapter deals with the context of Philodemus’ De oeconomia, which has, after all, been written on the Italian peninsula, rather than in the Greek world. As we saw in chapter three, a peculiar feature of De oeconomia is that it paints a picture of a very specific type of Epicurean sage. Because it specifically discusses estate management, this particular treatise can only be of use to a wealthy person who actually owns an estate in the first place. Although the general principles that underly Philodemus’ advice are, of course, universally valid for all Epicureans, a poor would-be sage has, in all likelihood, little to gain by reading it. Clearly, De oeconomia has been written with a very specific type of intended reader in mind. Given Philodemus’ geographical situation, it is almost certain that this must in the first place be that of the landowning Roman aristocrat. This means that any image of the sage that emerges from this text must specifically pertain to the wealthy Roman sage, rather than to the Epicurean sage in general. It is, therefore, useful to take a closer look at the cultural and intellectual background of the landowning Roman would-be

© Wim Nijs, 2024 | doi:10.1163/9789004685338_009

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sage. Thus, we may establish how Philodemus’ advice engages with this background and to what extent De oeconomia entails implicit criticisms of Roman economic and agricultural thought. The second part of this chapter explores the Epicurean sage’s use of slaves as an important element of his carefree ownership of an agricultural operation. Subsequently, we will take a look at the status of the sage’s slaves and their chances of ever becoming Epicurean sages themselves. 8.2

The Roman Sage and His Estate

8.2.1 The Greek Context Philodemus lived and wrote on the Italian peninsula and many of the people who attended his discourses and read his works were, no doubt, Roman aristocrats, rather than Greeks. One would expect that a treatise on household management, which offers, after all, very practical advice on the correct way of gaining an income, would unambiguously address the issues of the Roman economical context. In light of this it is perhaps somewhat surprising that the preserved parts of the work give the impression that they might as well have been written in Athens for a purely Greek audience. The whole text contains only one brief reference to Roman practices with regard to household management.1 Roman works on agriculture, such as Cato’s De agri cultura or the many other agricultural handbooks which we know by name only, are completely ignored.2 Instead, Philodemus engages at great length with the works of Xenophon and Theophrastus, Greek authors who wrote against the background of the Attic agricultural context of the fifth and fourth centuries bc and

1 Oec. 24.37–25.1. Philodemus’ criticism here is that some Romans adopt an overly rigid system to keep track of their expenses and savings. This rigidness makes it impossible to adapt easily to changing circumstances and is above all incompatible with the sage’s habit of offering pleasurable gifts to his friends. 2 The absence of references to Varro’s De re rustica, on the other hand, is probably less surprising. Although Varro and Philodemus were contemporaries, the former wrote his work on agriculture only near the end of his life. Even if Philodemus were still alive at that time, his De oeconomia may already have been written earlier. A more puzzling matter is perhaps the fact that Varro does not mention Philodemus anywhere, although he refers to Roman, Greek and even Carthaginian authors throughout the work. In fact, he even adds an impressive list of Greek authors (RR 1.1.8–9), which includes several philosophers, without, however, mentioning Philodemus. See also Nelsestuen (2015), 35–43 on Varro’s presentation of his sources.

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whose thinking seems, therefore, far removed from the realities of Italy several centuries later.3 However, this exclusive ‘Greekness’ of Philodemus’ treatise may be deceptive. We should bear in mind that these Greek texts were considered to be highly authoritative by the Romans in Philodemus’ age. Varro, for example, refers repeatedly to Theophrastus throughout De re rustica, and on one occasion also to Xenophon. Perhaps even more illustrative is Cicero’s well-attested admiration for Xenophon’s Oeconomicus. We know that the juvenile Cicero even endeavored to translate the entire work into Latin.4 The fact that he makes his spokesperson Cato strongly recommend this work in De senectute demonstrates that Cicero never ceased to feel profound admiration for it.5 Moreover, Philodemus explicitly wishes to deal with property management only. He distinguishes between the managerial aspect of running an estate on one hand, and the purely agricultural aspect on the other. It is beneficial for the wise estate owner to learn more about the former, as it concerns his own livelihood, but, as far as Philodemus is concerned, the latter has nothing to do with the philosopher. In fact, even Xenophon’s Oeconomicus is only discussed to the extent that it addresses the estate owner’s managerial duties:6 ἀλλὰ γὰρ [ο]ὐδὲν ἔτι δεῖ προσδιατρίβειν [τ]οῖς Ξεν[ο]φῶντος οἰκονο[μ]ικοῖς, τῶν ἐφεξῆς γεωργι[κὴν] ἀπ᾿ ἰδίας ἐμπειρίας, οὐκ ἀπὸ [φι]λοσ[ο]φίας γίνεσθαι συμβαί[νε]ι. But there is no need to spend any more time on Xenophon’s treatise on property management, since its next subject is the art of farming, which as a matter of fact derives from personal experience, not from philosophy. Besides, (this art) [by its nature] is neither a necessary object of the philosophers’ [knowledge], nor are [the tasks pertaining to it] suited to being carried out [through their advice]. 3 Philodemus’ critique of Xenophon and Theophrastus has been discussed in several excellent studies. See especially Laurenti (1973), 21–96; Angeli (1990); Natali (1995), 109–114; Asmis (2004), 164–172 Tsouna (2007), 165–176; (2013), xiii–xxiv. 4 Off. 2.87. See also Alfonsi (1961–1964). 5 Sen. 59: Multas ad res perutiles Xenophontis libri sunt, quos legite, quaeso, studiose, ut facitis. Quam copiose ab eo agricultura laudatur in eo libro qui est de tuenda re familiari, qui Oeconomicus inscribitur!: ‘Xenophon’s writings are very instructive on many subjects and I beg you to go on reading them with studious care. With what copious eloquence agriculture is lauded in his book entitled The Householder, which treats of the management of estates!’ (transl. Falconer (1923)). 6 Oec. 7.26–37; transl. Tsouna (2013).

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Philodemus explicitly refuses to discuss those sections of the text which involve practical agricultural advice, which is not related to philosophy, but to practical experience, notably the hallmark of the expert τεχνίτης. It would seem, then, that there is not only a distinction between the expert τέχνη of the good property manager in the conventional sense and the non-expert version which is appropriate for the sage. There also appears to be a difference between the art of property management and the art of farming, even if traditional discussions of these arts do not always seem to draw a sufficiently clear line between these interrelated τέχναι. This may also explain why Philodemus does not refer to Cato or the many other Roman authors of agricultural handbooks. These works are brimming with practical advice on different technical aspects of farming and cattle breeding and may often even contain countless herbal recipes which amount to little more than absolute quackery.7 The fact that none of the Roman sources is included in Philodemus’ De oeconomia might be due to their failure to offer any particularly useful advice to the philosopher, who is only interested in managing his property and not in the technicalities of farming. In light of the enduring authoritativeness of Xenophon’s and Theophrastus’ works on the specific subject of property management, Philodemus’ De oeconomia might perhaps not have struck his Roman readers as inappropriately Hellenocentric. Instead, it is far from unlikely that they judged that Philodemus’ Epicurean discussion on property management simply uses the most appropriate and authoritative sources on the subject at hand.8 8.2.2 The Roman Context There is good reason to believe that Philodemus easily found an interested audience for his discussion of estate management.9 Roman culture was, after all, firmly rooted in its agricultural past. Varro points out that Italy’s qualities as an agricultural region are utterly unsurpassable.10 Italian farmers were presented with the best possible resources to excel in their agricultural exploits and made expert use of them in a way that trumps anything else that may 7

Varro mocks and criticizes his predecessors, including Cato himself, for their inclusion of such ridiculous kitchen remedies in their handbooks (RR 1.2.25–28). 8 If, however, Philodemus had for some reason desired to write a booklet on the art of farming itself, readers might perhaps have been more inclined to frown upon a total disregard of Roman sources. Of course, Philodemus does not appear keen to refer to Roman sources in his other works either. The best sources for philosophy are, after all, Greek, rather than Roman. Compare also Cicero’s use of Greek sources in De finibus; cf. Roskam (2022). 9 Cf. Asmis (2004), 173–176. 10 RR 1.2.6–7; cf. Nelsestuen (2015), 86–92.

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be found in the rest of the known world. Moreover, the Romans looked with great fondness and admiration upon the virtuous farmers from their distant past. The idea of the indomitable, yet sober nobility of Rome’s landowners is exemplified by the cult status of a national hero like Cincinnatus, who could seamlessly switch between his political duties to the State and his daily labor behind the ploughshare.11 It was believed that the bravery and patriotism of Rome’s most valiant soldiers could be traced back to their origins as members of Italy’s farming families.12 Cato’s famous praise of the fundamentally Roman idea of the good countryman and farmer (bonus agricola bonusque colonus) illustrates this ideal’s impact on the Roman aristocracy’s collective sense of identity:13 Et virum bonum quom laudabant, ita laudabant: bonum agricolam bonumque colonum; amplissime laudari existimabatur qui ita laudabatur. And when they (sc. the Romans of old) would praise a worthy man, their praise took this form: ‘good husbandman’, ‘good farmer’; one so praised was thought to have received the greatest commendation. Yet, we should take care not to be deceived by Cato’s enthusiastic praise of the farmers of yore, nor by his technical discussion of the practical aspects of agricultural pursuits. In Cato’s time, landowners were already far removed from their humble origins as hardworking peasants. Although they were proud and fond of their status as estate owner, slaves, servants, and their overseers were supposed to do the actual work. The gentleman-farmer spends most of his time in the city, pursuing political glory, and is content to strut around on his estate and, at best, administers its finances, without the need to actually get his hands dirty.14 Yet the ideal of the bonus agricola endures, even though the realities of aristocratic life continue to change. Urban life takes over as the core pillar of the Roman politician’s existence, while the family estates on the countryside are reduced to steady sources of income and, above all, status symbols which offer their owner a nostalgic connection to their idealized past. For many Romans during the late Republican age, these estates seem to have become little more than a nostalgic rustic setting where they can spend their spare time in the 11 12 13 14

Cf. Cic., Sen. 56; Livy, AUC 3.26; Flor. 1.11. Cato, Agri cult. 4. Cat. Mai., Agri cult. 2; transl. Hooper – Ash (1935). Cf. Reay (2005); Sciarrino (2011), 144–146.

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leisurely pursuit of various newfangled Greek refinements.15 Although farms are, in principle, still supposed to make profit, the line between profit and pleasure does not always appear very clear, often causing concerns for efficiency to be overshadowed by aesthetic and nostalgic predilections. The discussions in Varro’s De re rustica repeatedly express the view that profit and pleasure both have a stake in any healthy agricultural enterprise and that they should go in hand, even though profit should be the business’ primary concern.16 In this respect, he would seem to echo the claim of Xenophon’s spokesman Isomachus in the Oeconomicus. In this passage, the latter praises his father’s immense love of agriculture (φιλογεωργία) and love of toil (φιλοπονία). He claims that this allowed his father to feel pleasure while making a profit (ὠφελούμενος ἥδοιτο).17 In a similar vein, Cicero also praises agriculture as the most profitable and most delightful of occupations.18 It seems, however, that many members of that era’s aristocracy struggled to find the correct balance between both factors. Varro’s work offers several examples of Romans who sacrifice all concern for practicality and profitableness in order to enhance their own enjoyment of their estates’ rustic charm. People construct luxurious villas of which the construction is so ill-suited to farming purposes that they will never yield its owner any profit.19 Others commission expensive fish ponds and aviaries for the sake of pleasure only. An eloquent example of this disturbed balance between agricultural utility and pleasurable impracticality is found in Varro’s reference to Lucullus, who apparently attempted to combine both aspects in the construction of a splendid aviary in which guests might dine on the exquisitely cooked birds on their plates, while enjoying the spectacle of their surviving congeners flying through the aviary.20 Of course, Lucullus’ brilliant idea does not work out as planned, as the stench of bird droppings quickly spoils the table guests’ appetite, thus exemplifying the valuable lesson that even the compatibility of usefulness and pleasure has its limits. Cicero, on the other hand, seems to conflate the utility and pleasure of farming altogether. Whilst De officiis, as we have seen, states that nothing is 15 16 17 18

Cf. RR 1.13.6; 1.59.2. See also RR 2.intr.2 for the ‘Hellenization’ of the Roman estates. E.g. RR 1.4.1; 3.3.1. Cf. Kronenberg (2009), 119; Nelsestuen (2015), 189–196. Xen., Oec. 20.25. Off. 1.151: Omnium autem rerum, ex quibus aliquid acquiritur, nihil est agri cultura melius, nihil uberius, nihil dulcius, nihil homine libero dignius: ‘But of all the occupations by which gain is secured, none is better than agriculture, none more profitable, none more delightful, none more becoming to the freeman’ (transl. Miller (1913)). 19 RR 1.13.6–7. 20 RR 3.4.3.

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more delightful and more profitable than farming, De senectute seems to completely ignore the whole aspect of profitability altogether. Instead, agriculture is presented as a source of many voluptates, a highly agreeable pastime for retired Roman statesmen. The old politician has performed his duties towards the fatherland and has, no doubt, accumulated more wealth than he needs for the remainder of his life. His retirement to the estate is presented as a choice for undiluted pleasure. The way Cicero’s Cato presents it, the old gentleman’s pleasure is not merely due to the rural setting where he spends his final years. It is made clear that he will actually find joy in the farming processes themselves.21 In other words, it is not enough to buy a house on the countryside amidst the fields. Instead, the retired aristocrat wishes to be involved in a functional farming enterprise, although it is very likely that his contribution to it will not involve any real menial labor. 8.2.3 Philodemus’ Epicurean Clarifications Although Philodemus does not explicitly interact with any of these Roman views, his account on property management entails some arguments which gain additional relevance when held against the light of this Roman background. Throughout the treatise, he makes two important distinctions which can be interpreted as a pointed clarification of the very issues to which the aforementioned Roman views pertain. A first distinction has already been discussed earlier in this chapter. It involves the difference between the art of farming, considered as a τέχνη which hinges on practical experience, and the art of property management. Roman agricultural handbooks do not strictly distinguish between these two arts. Xenophon’s Oeconomicus, on the other hand, makes this distinction, but claims that the property manager should also master the art of farming in order to be successful.22 The expert property manager may know how to manage his servants and how to invest his money, but that will do him little good if he lacks the necessary knowledge to choose the right plot of land to cultivate or to have his laborers work it in the most efficient way. Sound knowledge of the art of farming is instrumental for the fruitful practice of the art of property management. This claim earns Xenophon a critical remark from Philodemus, who deems it neither necessary nor appropriate for the

21 Cato’s enthusiastic account on the growth of grain, the cultivation of vines and the process of irrigation, ditching, and hoeing goes beyond a mere appreciation of the tranquil beauty of the countryside (Sen. 51–55). 22 Xen., Oec. 15.2–3.

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philosopher to spend his time and energy on these matters.23 In fact, he considers it even inappropriate for the sage to give his workers instructions on how to proceed with their agricultural duties. The Epicurean property manager does not need to give specific orders to his overseer, let alone to his slaves. It would seem that, in Philodemus’ view, any overseer worth his salt is supposed to have more than enough expertise to carry out the necessary tasks pertaining to farming activities on his own accord.24 Moreover, when faced with a decision which requires some knowledge that he lacks, Philodemus’ sage is not ashamed to seek the advice of friends who have personal experience with such matters.25 At first glance, Philodemus’ radical distinction between farming and property management looks like a debate between two Greeks who are, admittedly, generations apart. We should, however, bear in mind that Xenophon’s Oeconomicus has also shaped the thinking of Philodemus’ Roman contemporaries. In this instance, Philodemus’ critique of Xenophon also applies to the view of Cicero’s Cato in De senectute, which, as we saw earlier, declares its own indebtedness to the Oeconomicus:26 Venio nunc ad voluptates agricolarum, quibus ego incredibiliter delector; quae nec ulla impediuntur senectute et mihi ad sapientis vitam proxime videntur accedere. I come now to the pleasures of agriculture in which I find incredible delight; they are not one whit checked by old age, and are, it seems to me, in the highest degree suited to the life of the wise man. Here we read how the activities of the agricolae are praised as a source of voluptates. In fact, even the increasing infirmity is said not to have any negative impact upon the gentleman-farmer’s enjoyment of agriculture’s delights. Cato goes even so far as to proclaim that the pleasures of the farmer are a pursuit worthy of the wise man himself.27 In what follows, Cicero makes it clear that Cato’s praise indeed regards farming, rather than merely the management

23 Phld., Oec. 7.26–37. 24 Cf. Phld., Oec. 7.10–14 on the training of slaves. The philosopher may give his overseer specific instructions to this end, but, so Philodemus points out, the latter could as easily carry our these same tasks without his master’s instructions. 25 Phld., Oec. 26.18–28. 26 Sen. 51; transl. Falconer (1923). 27 Cf. Sen. 56, where he claims that there exists no greater happiness.

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of an estate.28 In fact, property management seems to be left out of the picture entirely. Either both arts are completely conflated or Cicero’s Cato is simply no longer interested in managerial duties, considering that he no longer needs to make money and is purely concerned with farming in itself. If the latter is true, this would go beyond anything that can be found even in Xenophon’s Oeconomicus, where farming is introduced as an auxiliary art and where even the love of farming finds its point of culmination in the profitable sale of one’s well-tended farm.29 It would seem, then, that Philodemus’ criticism of Xenophon is equally, if not even more relevant for Cicero’s reception of Xenophontic thought. A second important distinction concerns the role of profit and that of pleasure. Property management is certainly useful and appropriate for the sage, provided that it is done in accordance with the preconception of the good life. If these modalities are observed, it can be a worthy source of income which yields great benefits in return for fairly little trouble. Yet, property management in itself does not bring the sage pleasure. It definitely produces a steady income and the peace of mind that comes with it. It also enables the sage to spend this money on things which he can share with his friends. In sum, the correct type of property management can have instrumental value with regard to the sage’s enjoyment of pleasure. Yet, it is never more than a useful means to an end. In this respect, Philodemus’ view differs considerably from those held by Xenophon, Cicero, and even Varro, which we have mentioned earlier. From an Epicurean point of view, the notion of intrinsically pleasant toil can simply not exist. The Xenophontic idea that someone might combine profit and pleasure through φιλογεωργία must have struck Philodemus as odd,30 while the idea that something like φιλοπονία might even exist must have seemed 28 See, for example, his praise of the ancient Romans who tilted the soil themselves (Sen. 56), as well as his reference to Valerius Corvinus, who apparently cultivated his fields until he was hundred years old (Sen. 60). 29 Xen., Oec. 20.26–29. It is also important to note that knowledge of the art of farming does not necessarily require one to do menial labor. In Isomachus’ view, the landowner may learn this art through a combination of observation and theoretical instruction (Xen., Oec. 15.10–11). The personal experience (ἰδία ἐμπειρία: Phld., Oec. 7.31) involved in the landowner’s study of farming does not require him to do a farmer’s work. Instead, it seems to suffice that he acquire an understanding of how things are done, without ever doing them himself. In this respect, Xenophon’s view seems to be in line with Philodemus’ claim that it is wretched to cultivate the land with one’s own hands (Phld., Oec. 23.7–9). 30 Epicurus is reported to have said that the sage ‘will love the countryside’ (φιλαγρήσειν: D.L. 10.120 (= 120a Dorandi)), but that does not necessarily mean that he will also love farming, just as the person who ‘loves forests’ may enjoy taking a stroll in them, but does not necessarily desire to become a lumberjack.

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downright absurd. The Epicurean sage does not pursue toil for its own sake. It is unpleasant by its very nature and may only be considered a viable choice if it leads to greater pleasure. Philodemus’ land-owning sage will be a good property manager, who looks after his estate and makes a decent profit, although he will not work as hard as his non-Epicurean colleague, who spends all his time and energy on his attempts to maximize profit. As a rule, the sage will not do any real labor (οὔτ᾿ ἐγάζεσθαι),31 but he will gladly take a reasonable amount of πόνος (toil) upon himself in return for the greater benefits of a steady income. Philodemus’ use of this terminological pair reflects that of Xenophon, who reserves ἐγάζεσθαι for members of the working class, who need to produce things and make a living.32 The term πόνος, on the other hand, denotes the aristocrat’s execution of his duties or, in a Philodemean context, the kind of effort that is appropriate for an Epicurean philosopher.33 Be that as it may, the sage will not even for a moment delude himself into thinking that this πόνος is in fact a good thing. He knows very well that it is an evil, but a bearable one, which is generously compensated by its results. His decision to accept this evil into his life is based entirely upon a thorough rational calculus.34 The important thing, indeed, is to find the right balance between toil and the amount of benefits that it may yield. Ways of managing the operation that require its owner to sacrifice his own leisure, tranquility, and nocturnal rest are far too troublesome to be worth choosing, no matter how much profit they might yield:35 31 Phld., Oec. 11.16–17. 32 Cf. Xen., Hipparch. 8.8: ἢ γὰρ ἐργαστέον ἢ ἀπὸ τῶν εἰργασμένων θρεπτέον: ‘For either men must work or they must eat the fruits of other men’s labour’ (transl. Marchant  – Bowersock (1925)). See also Johnstone (1994). The Roman Cincinnatus’ famous labor behind the ploughshare, on the other hand, would probably have been considered as an instance of ἐγάζεσθαι and, as such, unworthy of the civilized aristocrat. One can easily see how this complicates the position of Cicero’s Cato, who wants to praise both Cincinnatus’ example and Xenophon’s elucidating statements on the duties of the gentleman-farmer. In fact, the idea that the bonus agricola should fill his days with hard labor seems so deeply ingrained into Roman mentality that even Virgil, who actually frequented Siro’s and Philodemus’ Epicurean circles, appears unable or unwilling to exclude strenuous toil from his otherwise almost Epicurean descriptions of tranquil countryfolk (Verg., Georg. 2.472; 513–514; 516; 4.118; 133); cf. Gigante (2004), 91–92; Roskam (2007a), 161–165. For more studies on the possible Epicurean undercurrent of Virgil’s Georgics in general and his famous image of the senex Corycius in particular, see Alfonsi (1959); Boyancé (1960); La Penna (1977); Perkell (1981); Clay (1989); Johnson (2004). 33 See e.g. Phld., Oec. 18.40–47. 34 Cf. Epic., Ep. Men. 129–130. 35 Oec. 11.30–41; transl. Tsouna (2013).

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ταλαίπωρον δὲ καὶ ἀνοί[κε]ιον φιλοσόφου τὸ πρότ[ερ]ον τῶν οἰκετῶν ἐγε[ίρεσθ]αι καὶ καθεύδειν ὕστερο[ν· φα]νερὸν δὲ καὶ το[ῖ]ς τυχοῦσ[ιν τὸ μ]ηδέποθ᾿ ὅλην οἰκία[ν] ἀφ[ύλα]κτον εἶναι, πάνυ δ᾿ ἐ[πί]πονον τὸ δ[ιαν]ίστασθαι νύκτωρ εἰωθέναι· ζ[η]τῶ δ᾿ ε[ἰ] καὶ πρὸς ὑγίειαν καὶ φιλοσοφ[ί]α[ν] ἐν ταῖς μικραῖς συμφέρει νυξίν. However, [to wake up] before the servants and to go to sleep after them is wretched and unfitting for the philosopher. Besides, it is clear even to ordinary people that the house is never completely [unguarded], and it is very bothersome to acquire the habit of [getting up] in the course of the night. In fact, I am wondering if this activity (when practiced) in the short nights of the year, is good for health and for the study of philosophy. In stark contrast to the Roman ideal of the hardworking bonus agricola, who hardens his body and mind through assiduous labor and shuns no physical discomfort, Philodemus wonders aloud whether short nights and early rising might not be bad for the philosopher’s intellectual and physical health. The interesting point here is that many Roman aristocrats of that age were, no doubt, inclined to share Philodemus’ concern. In spite of Cicero’s high-strung praise of farming and the indomitable farmers of old, Varro’s De re rustica shows that contemporary aristocracy tended to prefer the comforts of the civilized world above their legendary ancestors’ frugal utilitarianism.36 36 Philodemus does not explicitly address the dilemma between farming for pleasure and farming for profit, which permeates the third Book of Varro’s De re rustica. Such a discussion would, after all, concern the art of farming, rather than that of property management. It is, however, relatively easy to predict what Philodemus’ position would be. First of all, farming and property management are merely instrumental to the sage’s pleasure, as they generate profit which he can use to procure pleasurable things for himself and his friends. The construction of esthetically pleasing fish ponds and aviaries might be acceptable, but only if the amount of effort that the farmer-for-pleasure has to invest in his hobby does not outweigh the pleasure that it yields. Let us take a look at the example of Quintus Hortensius, as described by Varro (RR 3.17.5–8). Apparently this wealthy Roman spent an enormous amount of money on his saltwater ponds and became deeply distraught whenever some of his fish were affected by disease. In light of the huge expenses and efforts, the lack of profit (RR 3.17.2: magis ad oculos pertinent quam ad vesicam, et potius marsippium domini exinaniunt quam implent), and the troubles which this type of hobby farming entails, it is very doubtful that the Epicurean sage would ever deem it worth his while. Because it is in fact inappropriate for the sage to waste his time on any aspect of the art of farming, he will probably delegate the entire business to his servants. In light of this, it is probably safe to assume that the sage would generally expect his overseers and their underlings to farm in an efficient and profitable way that enables him to gain a steady income without the need for much personal involvement. Farming for pleasure, then, will

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However, this does not mean that Philodemus condones the desires of dainty Romans who might expect Epicurean hedonism to provide their own love of luxury with a philosophical justification. Although Philodemus’ sage will not pursue the cumbersome life style of the ancient bonus agricola, he will not fall prey to laziness or decadency either:37 ὧν δ᾿ ἐπιτηδευτέον εἰς π[ρ]όσοδον καὶ τήρησιν ταύτης τε καὶ τῶν προυπαρχόν[τ]ων τὸ μὲν συνέ[χ]ον ἡγητέον ἐν τῆι τῶν ἐπιθυμιῶν εὐσταλείαι καὶ τῶν [φ]όβων· οὐ[δ]ὲν γὰρ ἐκχεῖν [κ]α[ὶ ἀ]νατρέπειν εἴ[θιστ]αι λαμπροτάτα[ς καὶ πλ]ουσι[ωτάτας οἰκίας ὡ]ς πολυτέλι[αί τε] δι[αίτ]ης κα[ὶ] λαγνε[ῖαι καὶ] π[ε]ριβλέψε[ις] κα[ὶ γυν]α[ικ]ισμοὶ καὶ τὰ τούτοις ὁμοιό[τ]ροπα, καὶ πάλ[ι]ν ἐκαστατ[ι]κὴ φρίκη θεῶν καὶ θανάτου καὶ [ἀλ]γηδόνων καὶ τῶν ταῦτα παρασκε[υ]άζειν δοξαζομένων Of the recommended activities leading to profits and the maintenance both of these and of the possessions that one had beforehand, one must keep in mind that the principal one consists in managing one’s desires and fears. For, [usually], nothing drains and ruins the most illustrious and [richest houses] so much as [extravagance in lifestyle], lechery, ostentatious actions, [effeminate behavior], and similar things and, again, the chilling fear of the gods, of death, of pains and of the things that are believed to produce them. The extravagant behavior of certain Roman estate-owners of which we find examples in Varro’s De re rustica is described as a direct consequence of the irrational fears and desires, which ought to be eradicated through the intensive study and application of Epicureanism’s Cardinal Tenets. The fact that the property manager can draw upon an ample and steady income does not entitle him to indulge every single unnecessary desire. As we have seen in chapter three, the wise landowner will not be reluctant to spend money, especially for the sake of his many friends. Yet, that does not mean that he would be downright profligate. If he were to spend all his money almost as soon as he can earn it, his toils as a property manager would no longer serve their purpose of providing him with a reassuring bulwark against the possibility of future misfortune. Some degree of frugality is in order, which implies that spending generally have little or no place in the Epicurean sage’s views on the ideal way of running an estate (which does not exclude that the sage may enjoy cultivating delicious vegetables in his garden, on a small scale and purely as a hobby). 37 Phld., Oec. 23.36–24.2; transl. Tsouna (2013).

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tremendous amounts of money on needlessly extravagant country houses or fish ponds with exotic marine fish, as some contemporary Romans liked to do,38 are not appropriate for the wealthy Epicurean sage. As a matter of fact, the sage does not really need a luxurious life. Although he prefers to have some wealth which he might share with his friends, he is perfectly content to lead a relatively modest life. However, that does not mean that the sage will use his willingness to be satisfied with a sober way of living as an excuse to be lazy.39 Instead, he will make an effort to acquire whatever he needs to live comfortably and, if it does not involve great efforts or risks he will not even hesitate to acquire a moderate surplus of wealth and comfort. In sum, the sage will above all make sure to find the right balance of effort and pleasure:40 καὶ πρὸς ἐπισκέψεις καὶ παρεδρείας ἐνίοις καὶ συλλογισμῶν συνθέσεις κατατίθεσθαί τινας χρόνους μήτε αἰσχ[ύ]νεσθαι μήτε φιλοσοφίας δοκεῖν ἀφαιρεῖν· τὸ γὰρ πλεονάζον ἀσχρόν ἐστιν, ἀλλ᾿ ἐφ ὅσον χρήσιμον, εὔσχημον, αἰσχρὸν δὲ πάλιν τὸ μηδ[ὲ] ἕν. Moreover, one ought to dedicate some time to inspections, to giving assistance to some (workers), and to preparing one’s accounts, without either feeling shame or believing that (by acting in that manner) one takes something away from philosophy. For while it is a shameful thing to be excessively involved in such matters, to the extent that this is useful it is honorable, and the shameful thing is rather to do nothing at all. Philodemus’ sage knows that his source of income requires some inevitable πόνος. Even an Epicurean property manager who delegates the greater share of the work to his competent overseers needs to inspect his business from time to time and make certain that everything continues to run smoothly. Far be it removed from him to shun these managerial duties under the pretext that they are shameful or even that they might distract him too much from his philosophical pursuits. Excessive toil and laziness both earn Philodemus’ disapproval. The landowning sage, then, is neither a bonus agricola bonusque colonus who spends almost every waking hour in the service of his estate, nor is he one of the refined aristocratic pleasure-seekers who waste all their money

38 RR 1.13.6; 3.2.5–6; 3.17.2–9. 39 Phld., Oec. 16.45–17.12. 40 Phld., Oec. 26.9–18; transl. Tsouna (2013).

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and consider their estate in the first place a pleasant setting for extravagant dinner parties. 8.2.4 Conclusion Thoroughly Greek as Philodemus’ account on property management might prima facie appear, we have seen that many of his arguments and advices are strikingly well-attuned to the issues and questions with which the Roman aristocracy of his time was faced. In a field (no pun intended!) where people struggle to find a compromise between long-standing cultural ideals and the radically different exigencies of their own reality, the merit of Philodemus’ De oeconomia may especially lie in its attempt to offer some much-needed clarifications. As we have seen, Philodemus clarifies the difference between farming and property management, which were still separate, though interrelated arts in Xenophon, but which Roman thought seems to conflate into a muddled whole. More importantly from an Epicurean point of view, he clarifies the crucial difference between pleasure and profit and elaborates upon their exact roles in the context of (appropriate) property management. In an ethical framework where pleasure is the highest good and where sensations of pain and pleasure are key factors in the rational assessment of any given situation, it is indeed crucial for the Epicurean estate manager not to confuse instrumental pain with the resulting pleasure. In sum, Philodemus provides his (Roman) readers with a well-balanced theory, which analyzes the topic of property management in a thoroughly philosophical fashion, unencumbered by the burden of nostalgic ideals. As such, the work is an excellent example of the Epicureans’ down-to-earth mentality, which demystifies issues while offering would-be Epicureans usable advice and an achievable role model. The land-owning sage, then, is precisely this type of role model: a figure who uses his rational capacities and clear appraisal of choices and avoidances to plot a course that keeps the ultimate goal of the Epicurean good life firmly within sight. 8.3

Leisure and the Labor of Others

8.3.1 The Utility of Slavery 8.3.1.1 Introduction As we have seen, the Epicurean sage will simply refuse to perform labor (ἐργάζεσθαι) if he can avoid it and will only tolerate a moderate amount of toil (πόνος) if he expects it to yield greater pleasure. Leisure, security, and tranquility are key concepts in his way of life, and hard work is, as far as the land-owning

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Epicurean sage is concerned, a burden, typical of other people’s lives, but completely absent from his own pleasant existence.41 For a slave, on the other hand, work is, apart from the lack of personal freedom, perhaps the most defining aspect of his entire life. Nevertheless, we know that at least some slaves, first and foremost among them Epicurus’ own servant Mys, seem to have found their way into the inner circles of the Garden’s ataractic philosophers.42 In the present section, we will explore how the Epicurean philosopher and his slave, two complete opposites, the former a paragon of leisure and the latter a worker through and through, can co-exist, and whether or not both may hope to reach the basic conditions which are required for the blissful Epicurean life to which every human being in his right mind should aspire. 8.3.1.2 The Value of Slave Labor for the Sage’s Happiness Contrary to the Cynics, the Epicureans hold that, in order to attain the conditions required for the pursuit of ἀταραξία and true Epicurean happiness, the philosopher ideally possesses a modicum of wealth, as well as a way to maintain this wealth without needing to do any real work himself.43 Philodemus explicitly discusses the different ways of securing an income that are appropriate for the Epicurean philosopher. He strongly warns his readers that it would be a terrible mistake to think that working the fields or mining ore with one’s own hands might ever be a valid course of action.44 The ideal way of making a living for oneself is, as we have seen, to be a teacher of philosophy who, like Epicurus himself, receives gifts in return for sharing his wisdom.45 There are, however, some sound alternatives for those who are not in a position to live from their teaching skills. One can either derive an income from the field labor of slaves on one’s estate, or from the skills of slaves who know how to craft things that can be sold for profit.46 It would seem, then, that owning slaves can contribute to Epicurean happiness. The knowledge that one has a steady 41

42 43 44 45 46

We should bear in mind that De oeconomia discusses a specific type of Epicurean sage. It remains to be seen whether a poor sage is equally free from the necessity to perform hard work every now and then. Theoretically speaking, even a penniless sage should be able to make a living as an Epicurean teacher. Yet, if no one wants to hire him, the poor sage might have to accept the unpleasantness of physical labor in order to survive. The necessity of labor gains particular relevance in the case of slaves, as we will see further on in this chapter. D.L. 10.2; 10. Phld., Oec. 12.17–19.47. Phld., Oec 23.5–9. Phld., Oec. 23.22–32. See section 4.2.1. Phld., Oec. 23.9–22. For Philodemus, these sources of income are ranked in second and third place, immediately after teaching. Cicero inverts this ranking: he places income

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income serves as a bulwark against worries about poverty and the hardship it can bestow on those afflicted by it. Moreover, slave labor enables the Epicurean sage to keep his body perfectly free from pain, as he can effortlessly delegate all heavy lifting and, in fact, almost any task that he might find unpleasant, to his slaves. The sage, then, for all his famously philanthropic and egalitarian tendencies, seems to have few qualms about owning slaves and making other human beings do the dirty work he himself disdains. 8.3.1.3 The Ethical Status of Slavery Even though we know that the ancients did not always share the same cultural values as we, we still tend to somehow expect philosophers to rise above common prejudices and practices of which we nowadays disapprove. This is even more true in the case of the Epicurean school, which is known to have extended an extraordinary openness to virtually anyone who desired to follow Epicurus’ doctrinal path towards true happiness. Diogenes Laertius famously reports that even slaves and prostitutes were not only welcomed into the Garden, but even allowed to philosophize along with Epicurus himself.47 In a similar vein, the later Epicurean Diogenes of Oenoanda publicly professed his cosmopolitan views, while providing anyone, Greeks and barbarians alike, with the means to cure their diseased disposition. Understandably, the modern reader of these texts often feels some measure of disappointment when these, seemingly enlightened, minds occasionally conform to views and practices which were generally accepted in their own time, but which are at present severely frowned upon.48 The matter of slavery is such a case. It would go beyond this chapter’s aim to discuss the views on slavery that were held by the different philosophical schools.49 For the present discussion, it suffices to say that the attitudes towards slavery ranged from Aristotle’s theory of natural slavery, up to more egalitarian views, like the one held by the Stoics, who, nevertheless, did not take any real steps to abolish slavery either.

from farming operations first and teaching second, together with medicine, architecture, and large scale trade (Off. 1.150); cf. Natali (1995), 121. 47 D.L. 10.10. 48 An example of such an instance can be found in van der Horst (2006), 233 who clearly struggles to hide his disappointment when commenting on Theol. 5.7–6.2 that “it is revealing that such an eminently rational and otherwise sympathetic personality as Diogenes was not able to rise above the level of the worst anti-Jewish clichés of his time”. For an alternative, and perhaps more charitable reading of this passage, see Nijs (2021). 49 Such an overview can be found in other studies such as Ramelli (2016) and Garnsey (1996).

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Unlike Aristotle, the Epicureans did not believe in the natural inferiority of slaves or women.50 In distinguishing the properties (coniuncta) and accidents (eventa) of things, Lucretius ranks slavery not among the invariable properties,51 but among the accidents, which “may come and go while the nature of things remains intact”.52 Someone may be born a slave, but that does not entail any intrinsic inferiority to others who have been born as free citizens. In principle, provided that his διάθεσις is sound, a slave should be able to achieve wisdom as easily as a free citizen with a similar διάθεσις, and with greater ease than one who is legally free, but whose mental disposition is in a worse state. It would seem, then, that as far as the Epicureans are concerned, the defining difference between a humble slave and a well-respected citizen is, mainly, the former’s bad luck. In itself, this would seem a commendable way of looking at things, were it not for the fact that, as we have seen, the Epicureans still strongly endorse owning and exploiting slaves, in spite of their acceptance that these slaves are not naturally inferior to themselves. 8.3.1.4 Humane Slave Ownership in Function of the Sage’s Security Are the Epicureans, then, no better than the average slave owner in Antiquity, ruthless in their determination to disregard the wellbeing of other, less fortunate human beings in order to further their own pursuit of leisurely happiness? Fortunately for our opinion of Epicurus and his brethren, there may be some positive notes as well. First of all, there is the fact that Epicurus himself famously allowed his slaves to partake in the Garden’s philosophical discussions. Epicurus’ slave Mys is named as one of the first people who joined him when he founded his school,53 although, of course, it remains to be seen exactly to what extent the former had a real choice in the matter, being, quite literally, the founder’s property. Nevertheless, Diogenes Laertius repeatedly specifies that Mys and 50 Ramelli (2016), 60 adds barbarians to the list of groups whose natural inferiority was rejected by the Epicureans. Although this would certainly be a valid claim for Diogenes, Epicurus is reported to have made some philhellenic, and for Ramelli’s claim potentially problematic, statements. Notably D.L. 10.117 (οὐδὲ μὴν ἐκ πάσης σώματος ἕξεως σοφὸν γενέσθαι ἂν οὐδ᾿ ἐν παντὶ ἔθνει) and Epic. Fr. 226 Us. (ὁ δὲ Ἐπίκουρος ἔμπαλιν ὑπολαμβάνει μόνους φιλοσοφῆσαι Ἕλληνας δύνασθαι) are often cited as arguments against the universal achievability of Epicurean wisdom. 51 Coniunctum est id quod nusquam sine permitiali // discidio potis est seiungi seque gregari (DRN 1.451–452). Cf. Heßler (2012). 52 Cetera quorum // adventu manet incolumis natura abituque, // haec soliti sumus, ut par est, eventa vocare (DRN 1.456–458). 53 D.L. 10.2.

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other slaves were not merely present in the Garden, but actually engaged in συμφιλοσοφεῖν.54 Moreover, the Epicurean slave owner is not a harsh or unfair task master.55 Discipline and punishment are, if necessary, to be meted out rationally and in moderation.56 In De ira, Philodemus warns against the irascible person’s urge to punish slaves excessively and all too violently.57 In De oeconomia, he rejects authoritative views on the management of slaves and servants as needlessly inhumane. Theophrastus’ claim that slaves should be denied wine, in order to avoid any chance of them becoming insolent, is deemed irrational.58 Furthermore, he strongly rejects the harsh views proffered by respectively Theophrastus and Xenophon that one should either secure a slave’s loyalty by holding his wife and children hostage, or that one should only raise the children of the good servants, but not those of the bad ones.59 Moreover, although slaves can be used for agricultural labor, craftsmanship, or the performance of tasks in and around the house, Philodemus advises against using slaves in mining operations, where they would have to work under extremely unhealthy conditions and be at constant risk of severe injury and even death.60 Needlessly harsh or anger-fueled treatment of slaves will only lead to resentment on their part. Not only will a disgruntled slave serve his master less satisfactorily,61 but inhumane treatment of slaves may even put the slave owner in danger of becoming the target of future retaliations. De ira vividly describes what slaves might do to their master when they have been mistreated for too long: they may eventually resort to murder, or, failing to accomplish that, the killing of the master’s family, and the total destruction of his property.62 Philodemus’ contemporary reader is, no doubt, immediately 54 D.L. 10.2; 10. 55 Cf. Phld., Oec. 9.44–10.7. 56 D.L. 10.118 reports that the Epicurean sage will rather feel pity for his slaves, than punish them, and that he will show forgiveness to those who have demonstrated good qualities. See section 5.1.2.3.2 for an interpretation of this passage. 57 Phld., Ira 23.35–40; 24.17–36. 58 Phld., Oec. 9.26–44. 59 Phld., Oec. 10.15–21. 60 Phld., Oec. 23.3–5. It seems that Philodemus disapproves of mining operations. Perhaps he would be willing to acknowledge the usefulness of what they produce as long as his personal involvement in the mining businesses themselves is not required. Yet, we should also bear in mind that the Epicureans did not always look kindly upon the role of metallurgy in human life. Based on Lucretius’ account of the evolution of mankind, the discovery of metal ores engendered greed (DRN 5.1113–1116) and fueled a thirst for war (DRN 1281–1296). 61 Phld., Ira fr. 24.10–17; 24.17–20. 62 Phld., Ira 24.20–36.

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reminded of the atrocities that were committed during the, at that time still fairly recent, slave rebellions.63 In sum, slave ownership is a very good means towards financial security (ἀσφάλεια), but a failure to treat one’s slaves fairly and humanely risks defeating its purpose entirely, as it will engender resentment and lust for revenge that could jeopardize the slave owner’s physical ἀσφάλεια in ways that go far beyond what he would have faced if he had not acquired slaves in the first place. However, this does not mean that the Epicurean sage will forgo discipline entirely. Philodemus agrees with Theophrastus that it would be unwise to allow slaves to run riot (ὑβρίζειν).64 Laxness in the management of one’s slaves is, after all, not without its dangers either. In De superbia, Philodemus adds that the sage will keep a close eye of his household slaves and servants. Without supervision, these might feel free to behave arrogantly towards visitors, making it appear as if their own arrogance reflects their master’s attitude towards these visitors. Through actions unbeknownst to himself, a lax master might all too soon find his own reputation utterly destroyed in the eyes of his friends and fellow citizens, and may then have a very hard time trying to rectify matters.65 If discipline is to be enforced, this should be done through measures that are proportionate to the issue at hand, and that are, above all, determined by rational thought, as is the case with every Epicurean choice and avoidance.66 It would seem, then, that the Epicurean’s slaves are treated fairly well, even if this is mostly due to the Epicurean’s concern for his own wellbeing and his wish to avoid being targeted by unhappy slaves. Nevertheless, the Epicurean sage is, by definition, a gentle philanthropist and it should probably not be doubted that he finds it pleasant to bestow kindness upon his grateful slaves, provided, of course, that it does not harm him to do so.67 The sage, then, gains a steady income through the efforts of his slaves and takes care not to jeopardize his personal security by treating them unreasonably. 8.3.2 The Sage’s Slaves 8.3.2.1 Wisdom for Slaves? Yet, where does this leave the Epicurean sage’s slaves themselves, if, indeed, they are allowed to συμφιλοσοφεῖν? Might the modalities of a slave’s existence allow him to pursue Epicurean happiness? The repeated mention of the 63 64 65 66 67

Cf. Harris (2001), 321; Tsouna (2007), 215, n. 59. Phld., Oec. 9.26–32. Phld., Sup. 9.24–37. Epic., Ep. ad Men. 132. Phld., Elect. et fugae 14.1–9.

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philosophizing slave Mys suggests that at least some slaves managed to do so in spite of their less than ideal circumstances. The question how one can walk the path towards Epicurean happiness in spite of cumbersome duties and the strict limit these impose upon a person’s life is, of course, not unique to the situation of slaves. Politicians with Epicurean sympathies were regularly faced with this particular challenge. Their Epicurean teachers were not blind to these difficulties and accommodated these aspiring Epicureans with a qualifying approach to philosophy.68 The general idea is that these politicians should strive to adhere to the Garden’s doctrine as much as possible, provided that it does not do them more harm than good to abandon the exigencies of their role as aristocrats in favor of philosophical alternatives.69 This entails a careful process of gradual withdrawal from their public life, which should, ideally, culminate in a complete conversion to the Epicurean’s blissfully unnoticed existence among like-minded friends. There are, of course, two crucial differences between the case of the politician and that of the slave. First of all, the politician may have a hard time extricating himself from the duties and expectations that are his birthright, but ultimately, his life belongs to him alone, and if he wishes, he can abandon his public life whenever he wants to, even if he had better do so in a gradual way, in order to avoid the unpleasantness of an abrupt withdrawal. The slave’s life, on the other hand, belongs to his master, and if he tries to leave his duties and runs away, he will be hunted down and subjected to severe punishment, provided that he even survives his ordeal. From this follows a second crucial difference between both types of star-crossed would-be Epicureans: the philosopher will fill entire letters and treatises, encouraging his aristocratic friend to extricate himself from everything that might impede the achievement of sagehood, but he also knows that offering advice and encouragement is his only responsibility in this matter. It is, however, a different matter altogether if one of the philosopher’s slaves comes up to him and asks to be released from the cumbersome duties of his servile life, so that he be able to devote himself entirely to philosophy. In that case, the philosopher has an ideal opportunity to demonstrate his φιλανθρωπία, because he, and he alone, has the power to free this aspiring fellow Epicurean and offer him unobstructed passage towards true Epicurean happiness. Yet, if he frees every slave who expresses a vivid interest in an Epicurean life of leisure and happiness, then the philosopher himself will soon see all of 68 See Roskam (2007a), 148 and passim. 69 See, for example, the cases of Idomeneus of Lampsacus (Sen., Ep. 22.5–6) and Piso; cf. Erbì (2015), 80–82 for Idomeneus, and Griffin (2001); Benferhat (2005), 210–232 and Fish (2011b) for Piso’s gradual conversion to Epicureanism.

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his costly-bought slaves and servants converted into happy Epicurean freedmen, while he is stuck with the unpleasant labor he definitely does not want to do, which is the very reason why he acquired slaves in the first place. Obviously, the philosopher will not allow his philanthropy to compromise his own pleasant circumstances, which is why he will, in all likelihood, be supportive towards any slave who expresses a genuine interest in Epicureanism, but not to the extent that he will immediately grant that slave his freedom. This is, probably, how Mys lived his life in Epicurus’ household. We should, after all, bear in mind that, although Mys was allowed to philosophize with Epicurus, and although he may even have been a valued member of the Garden and an intellectual peer to his freeborn colleagues, he still spent all those years as a slave and was only set free by testament upon Epicurus’ death.70 Epicurus may have felt respect and genuine affection for a slave like Mys, a man he had known for so many years and who was among the first to join him in his newly founded school, but he was also pragmatic enough to postpone Mys’ manumission to that point in time when he himself would no longer have need of the pleasant services that Mys and his fellow slaves had always provided him with. So, what did Mys’ life as a philosophizing slave presumably look like? We have no real information on this, other than that Mys and other slaves were allowed to συμφιλοσοφεῖν. Yet, we may probably assume that the tasks that fell to these particular slaves were relatively light ones that did not keep them away from Epicurus’ learned discussions. In all likelihood, they were well-educated house slaves, cultured enough to be pleasant around Epicurus and his friends, and knowledgeable enough to be able to contribute to philosophical debate. Perhaps they poured wine or water to their fellow philosophers and served them sober nourishment, while being almost continuously present and, therefore, able to fully enjoy the learned conviviality of their meetings. They would have reaped the benefits of a daily rehearsal and application of doctrinal principles, as well as the pleasant company of like-minded friends. Presumably, these friends were, for all relevant intents and purposes, able and willing to look beyond the considerable difference in social status and to regard someone like Mys as a proper fellow philosopher, albeit one who happened to refill their cup and pass them a bowl with olives or cheese every now and then. The only drawback for Mys would have been the need to perform light duties around the house and the knowledge that, in reality, he was still a slave, even if, for the most part, he was not treated like one. As for the latter element, Mys himself would probably have adopted the Epicurean view that his status as a slave was simply an accident, a mere product of misfortune and convention that might 70 D.L. 10.21.

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define how society saw him, but that had, fortunately, relatively little importance within the Garden, the only place where it really mattered. Moreover, the Epicurean sage may try to avoid having to do small errands and light chores around the house if he can easily do so, but he would probably not consider them a real impediment to his state of ἀταραξία if there were no easy way to avoid them, provided, of course, that they are not painful and that they do not rob him of the opportunity to study philosophy with his friends. Moreover, Mys was probably better off than many freeborn commoners, who lacked the means to lead a life of leisure, and had to go to work lest they be reduced to abject poverty and risk starving to death. These people were faced with worry and insecurity on a daily basis, fearing that their small business might go bankrupt, that their little patch of crops might go bad, that their employer might fire them, and so on.71 Mys, on the other hand, knew that, as long as he fulfilled his tasks around the house, he would never have to worry about food or housing.72 Moreover, because the Epicurean slave owner is not susceptible to unprovoked fits of rage, unfair punishment, or irrational behavior in general, Mys knew that, unlike many other slaves throughout the ancient world, he was relatively safe from any sort of unpleasantness whatsoever, as long as he himself did not deliberately try to harm his benevolent master. It would seem, then, that, at least in the case of Mys and other Epicurean house slaves, the requirements for the pursuit of a philosophical life are reasonably well-fulfilled. He derives sufficient security from the fairness and kindness of his master, who is, in turn, more than happy to see his life being made somewhat easier, while he can rest assured that his household does not harbor a dangerously disgruntled slave.73 71

We should also keep in mind that Philodemus calls the merchant who braves the treacherous seas for the sake of making a living truly wretched and pitiful (Mort. 33.25–31). See section 5.1.2.2.2. 72 We should probably bear in mind the parallel case of the hetaerae who joined Epicurus in his philosophical gatherings. In the same way that an educated house slave like Mys is better placed to pursue an Epicurean life than many freeborn commoners, these prostitutes of a refined class did probably possess a superior intellectual independence, compared to more respectable women, who were often tied down by the exigencies of marriage and the expectations of their family; cf. Nussbaum (1994), 53. For detailed studies on the women in Epicurus’ School, see Gordon (2004) and Di Fabio (2017). 73 Nevertheless, Mys’ lack of freedom must still have some impact on his life. Even a slave with kind and fair masters is still more limited in his choices than people who are free. Even if Mys is faring better than many other slaves and even some poor freeborn people, he will probably prefer to be free, provided that this freedom does not entail the loss of too many comforts. As an Epicurean, Mys will probably know better than to be overly distressed by his lack of freedom. Yet, it is not implausible that he will every now and then experience a brief emotional ‘bite’ whenever he is faced with the limitations of his existence. As we saw in section 6.1.5, a trained Epicurean will easily overcome this painful

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8.3.2.2 Wisdom for All Slaves? However, it remains to be seen whether that which is true for house slaves also applies to the case of field laborers, who are, in fact, to a much greater extent instrumental in the realization of their master’s financial wellbeing, considering that they are the ones who actually provide him with the means to conduct his leisurely life in whatever way he sees fit. Can these hardworking and somewhat less sophisticated slaves also partake in the many blessings of Epicurus’ teachings? In theory, there is no reason why these slaves would not be able to achieve Epicurean wisdom, considering that their social background is a mere accident.74 If they are willing to better themselves through Epicurus’ teachings and if they do not mind subjecting themselves to their teacher’s frank speech, then they should, generally speaking, be able to remedy whatever flaws their mental disposition might contain. Eventually, they might achieve wisdom and the happiness that flows from its continuous application. Yet, the important question is whether their Epicurean master would feel inclined to actually teach them how to be Epicureans.75 A house slave like Mys might be able to combine his chores with philosophical pursuits, but this might be less feasible for a field worker wielding the ploughshare on a dusty field somewhere on his master’s estate, far removed from the convivial discussions in the latter’s comfortable house.76 Although Philodemus criticizes rival philosophers for some of their needlessly harsh rules with regard to the care for their slaves,77 there is no indication that he believed that the Epicurean estate owner should grant his laborers leisure to study philosophy, nor does he suggest that the slave owner should take the time to teach it to them. In fact, Philodemus disapproves of slave owners who would go to considerable lengths in order to provide entertainment for their slaves, which suggests that he would also advise against

bite through the use of rational arguments. Mys will probably assure himself that natural goods can easily be acquired (KD 15), even by a slave. Everything that is beyond his reach, on the other hand, is not really necessary for his happiness. 74 See also Roskam (2022), 11–14. 75 Moreover, it remains to be seen whether every field worker would be able to read. As we saw in section 2.2.3.2, literacy was considered a practical prerequisite for the achievement of wisdom. 76 Asmis (2004), 172 presumes that Philodemus’ landowner is supposed to grant his slaves some leisure every now and then, so that they may study philosophy. There is, however, nothing in Philodemus’ treatise that suggests that this may indeed have been his intention, nor do I consider it likely that he would have considered this a worthwhile measure, as I will try to demonstrate in what follows. 77 Phld., Oec. 9.26–44; 10.15–21.

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making the effort of providing them with philosophy classes.78 There is even good reason to assume that Philodemus would advise against every activity that would require the philosopher to mingle with the slave population. In his discussion of the acceptable ways of gaining an income, he explains why using slaves to work the fields is a far better course of action than working them oneself. One of the reasons for this, so he tells us, is that it allows the estate owner to avoid dealing with the sort of men from whom many unpleasant things follow.79 It is not entirely clear whether he is referring to other farmers, freeborn field hands, slaves, or all of these groups combined, but the general message seems to be that those who toil away on the fields tend to be rough, uncivilized types, and that the philosopher would be wise to steer well clear of them, lest their disagreeable demeanor threaten to spoil his ataractic happiness. If the philosopher is to purchase slaves for the express reason of avoiding prolonged contact with boorish field workers, then surely, it is very unlikely that he would choose to consort with them for teaching purposes, let alone that he would attempt to apply frank speech to them and potentially expose himself to irascible reactions from those who have a low tolerance for it.80 Nor should we forget that he has very little to gain by doing so. It is, in all likelihood, quite pleasant for the Epicurean master if the house slave with whom he has close dealings on a daily basis happens to have the same philosophical interests, especially if he is able to make valuable contributions to the philosophical dinnertime conversations. Yet, it is probably safe to assume that the Epicurean estate owner could not care less about whether or not the field laborers who are digging in the dirt and planting turnips out on the estate somewhere have any grasp of Epicureanism, considering that he does not generally have any real contact with them at all. As a result, it does not really matter to him if they are pleasant to deal with or not, as long as they are good at what they are supposed to do, which is digging in the dirt and planting turnips. Diogenes of Oenoanda’s famous Golden Age fragment also provides some useful clues.81 Diogenes claims that, in an ideal scenario, which clearly is not yet in effect in his own time, all will embrace Epicurean wisdom, rendering laws and protection against foreign invasions entirely redundant. Every single human being in the world will live justly and pleasantly, and life on earth will truly resemble that of the immortal gods in their distant intermundia. Diogenes specifies, however, that, since in such a scenario literally everyone 78 79 80 81

Phld., Oec. 10.21–26. Phld., Oec. 23.11–14. See, for example, the people described in Ira 19.12–20.3. Diog. Oen. Fr. 56.

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will have become a full-fledged Epicurean, we will have to work the fields ourselves in order to produce whatever we need to sustain ourselves. According to Martin Ferguson Smith’s reconstruction of the text, Diogenes specifically adds that this is due to the fact that we will no longer have slaves to do the agricultural work for us.82 Others have suggested that there may be no explicit mention of slaves in the text and that Diogenes may merely have stated that we will have to work the fields ourselves, because the food we need to survive will not grow on its own, but requires an effort on our part.83 Even if the second reading is correct, this still implies that in a world in which everyone has become a true Epicurean, there will be no slaves left that might be tasked with agricultural labor. Otherwise, at least part of the Epicurean world population would still have a way to acquire the necessary foodstuffs effortlessly (ἄνευ πόνων). This corroborates the hypothesis that, from an Epicurean point of view, being a field slave is not compatible with the pleasures of an enlightened philosophical life. Diogenes’ words strongly suggest that, if every field laborer is to become a blissful Epicurean, they would first have to be freed from their cumbersome duties on the estate.84 Another indication that Philodemus might indeed hold the view that being a field slave is incompatible with Epicurean philosophy, can perhaps be found in column 7 of De oeconomia.85 Here we get a polemical passage in which Philodemus responds to a series of claims from Xenophon’s Oeconomicus, where Isomachus explains how one should train a slave to be a good overseer. 82 Fr. 56.1.14–2.1: (…) ὡς οὐκ ἐσομένων ἡμ[εῖν τότε δούλων] (…) 83 See, for example, Morel (2017), 234 and Gregor Staab’s suggestion, as printed in Morel (2017), 234, n. 48: (…) ὡς οὐκ ἐσομένων ἡμ[εῖν ἄνευ πόνων] (…) 84 Of course, Diogenes’ Golden Age is not unproblematic in its own right. If indeed, such a utopian future scenario would require everyone to plough, plant, and irrigate the fields with their own hands, how, then, would this be an improvement in the eyes of Diogenes’ leisurely fellow Epicureans, who were, in all likelihood, used to the uninterrupted leisure that their slave-operated holdings provided them with? Admittedly, Diogenes seems to suggest that, in an ideal future, our agricultural obligations will only be slight interruptions of our continuous study of philosophy in the pleasant company of our many friends. He may have assumed that the work on the fields will be fairly limited, since we only need a small amount of produce to sustain ourselves. It is also reasonable to assume that, in a perfect Epicurean world, where everyone is a helpful friend, we no longer need to acquire a sizeable sum of money as a bulwark against misfortunes that might otherwise plunge us into poverty. Diogenes may have felt that the fact that the Golden Age allows us to live in a state of perfect ἀσφάλεια, simply outweighs the small inconvenience of having to spend a few hours a day weeding and watering one’s small patch of vegetables, especially while working alongside one’s friendly Epicurean neighbors who have exactly the same obligations to fulfill as a brief intermezzo to their continuous philosophical conviviality. 85 Phld., Oec. 7.5–26.

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Philodemus reacts strongly against Isomachus’ claim that he not only teaches his overseer not to steal, but also imbues him with a strong sense of right and wrong, drawing upon the laws of Dracon and Solon. Philodemus is willing to concede that servants can be trained, much in the same way as domesticated animals, and that they can and should be taught not to touch their master’s property, although he adds that Isomachus’ referral to famous lawgivers to accomplish this is a ridiculous exaggeration. Yet, in Philodemus’ view, Isomachus’ claim that he can teach his slaves to discern between justice and injustice is pure nonsense, let alone that he might be able to teach his overseer to make other slaves just.86 This is in itself a puzzling statement, upon which Philodemus does not elaborate any further. Why would it be impossible to teach these slaves what justice is? The difference between a slave and a free citizen is, after all, a mere accident, which should not be an insurmountable obstacle for the former’s ability to acquire Epicurean wisdom, provided that he is willing to undergo philosophical therapy. Yet, perhaps Philodemus is not suggesting that the field laborer might be afflicted with some intrinsic inability to learn the nature of justice, but rather that his daily existence as a hardworking estate slave simply prevents him from doing so. We should keep in mind that Philodemus distinguishes between two types of τέχνη, viz. the technical type, mastered only by true specialists, and a more general one, which is accessible to laymen who lack the time or willingness to devote themselves to the achievement of true mastery. In the case of the slaves’ apparent inability to be taught what justice is, then, a similar dichotomy might be at work. The estate slaves can and should indeed be taught some philosophically valid basic truths, including the fact that some things are right and other wrong. Stealing from the master or damaging his property, for example, are very wrong indeed, and both the overseer and the other slaves should be taught that this sort of unjust behavior is unacceptable, and, above all, deserving of punishment. Both the well-educated philosopher and the unschooled slave have to be aware of this, and, in that respect, the latter has been taught the same philosophical truth as the former.87 Yet, what the slave does not necessarily need to know for the purpose of his life and work on the estate is that justice is a social construct, nor does he have to understand how it first came to be, nor how the sage 86 Cf. Delattre – Tsouna (2010b), 1265, n. 41: ‘Seul le philosophe sait ce qu’est la justice et peut l’enseigner; or, l’intendant n’est pas philosophe, aux yeux de Philodème’. 87 Ramelli (2016), 61, apparently, considers this sufficient grounds to credit Philodemus for the fact that he, supposedly, “introduces the idea of the slave owner as a teacher of virtue to its slaves”, even though it seems quite clear that he is, in fact, criticizing the fact that Xenophon’s interlocutor Isomachus tried to defend that very concept in a text that had, in Philodemus’ day, already been circulating the Mediterranean world for several centuries.

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should deal with unjust laws, or whether or not the sage will break the law if he is sure that he will not be caught, and many other advanced problems of similar nature. This sort of knowledge presupposes a thorough understanding of philosophical doctrine, and belongs, as such, to the domain of real φιλοσοφικὴ τέχνη. Any realistic attempt to master that specific art would require one to devote considerable time to its study, which would, obviously, be problematic for a slave who is supposed to spend his entire day wielding a shovel knee-deep in the mud, or toiling away in the dust during the heat of summer.88 If Isomachus is not content to teach his slaves some ground rules with regard to justice within the specific context of life on the estate, but actually wishes them to understand justice in a thorough fashion, then he is indeed chasing windmills. He cannot possibly accomplish this goal, unless he allows his slaves to devote their time almost exclusively to this one pursuit, which would, no doubt, result in the rapid decline and fall of his entire farming business. 8.3.3 Conclusion In conclusion, then, I would say that the question as to whether slaves owned by Epicurean masters had the opportunity to pursue sagehood, does not have an unqualified answer. It would seem that in the case of reasonably well-educated house slaves, who spend their lives in very close proximity to their masters, the modalities of their existence are favorable enough. This type of slave is well-fed, has a stable future, and is in that respect better off than many freeborn working class citizens. Moreover, he knows that he will not be punished unfairly and enjoys the benefits of being around Epicurean philosophers who allow him to partake in their philosophical discussions. The only thing left to burden the philosopher-slave on his path to godlike bliss is the fact that he still has to perform some relatively light tasks in and around the house, which should, in itself, not be enough to keep him from reaching his goal. Although his lack of freedom is certainly not ideal and may even place some unpleasant constraints upon his life, he rests assured that this will not keep him from acquiring whatever he needs to lead his life in accordance with nature. His rural counterparts, on the other hand, who spend their lives toiling on the fields, far removed from their master’s presence, are, at any rate, still much more fortunate than field slaves in the service of a less philosophical master. They are safeguarded from truly dangerous work, are not pushed beyond their limits by a greedy owner, 88 This is also what Philodemus seems to suggest in Adversus 16.16–18, where he contrasts educated philosophers who can properly study philosophy books with those who are hard-working slaves (ο[ἱ] δουλεύσαντες ἐργατικῶς) or unschooled illiterates (ἀνάγ[ω]γοι καὶ γράμματα μὴ μ[α]θόντες). Unfortunately, the text breaks off.

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intent on maximizing profit, and can, like their colleagues in the master’s household, rest assured that, as long as they do their jobs and refrain from theft or vandalism, they will not be punished or made subject to needlessly rigorous discipline. Epicurean happiness and sagehood, however, are, in all likelihood, beyond them. First of all, they probably lack both time to study philosophy and someone who might teach it to them. Moreover, even if the Epicurean estate owner does not seek to maximize profit and does not feel the urge to push his laborers to the very limits of their endurance, working the fields all day long is still heavy work, which will, no doubt, result in painful backs and joints, at the very least. Although an Epicurean philosopher would probably be able to tolerate the performance of some light domestic chores, provided that there is no satisfactory way to avoid this, the avoidance of pain is a conditio sine qua non for the pursuit of happiness. Dragging one’s weary body out onto the dusty fields every single day, only to exert one’s worn-out back and aching joints once more through heavy labor is the very opposite of what an Epicurean should strive to achieve.89 It seems unlikely, then, that the average individual from this group of slaves ever stood a real chance of becoming a true Epicurean. On the social ladder, Mys and this nameless field worker might have stood equally low, but when it comes to philosophical opportunity, they were, in all likelihood, worlds apart. It was perfectly acceptable for the Epicurean sage to build his leisurely lifestyle to a great extent upon the income he could effortlessly derive from the labor of his slaves. Kind philanthropists as they were, the Epicureans were, no doubt, grateful for this labor, and treated their slaves and servants in the fairest and most humane of ways. Yet, only a happy few among these slaves had the opportunity to become Epicureans themselves, which was, as far as their Epicurean masters were concerned, probably for the best, because, generous philanthropists though they undoubtedly were, they most definitely did not desire to dig around in the dirt and plant their own turnips. 89 The Stoics, on the other hand, were much less averse to hard (agricultural) labor. Cleanthes, for example, spent his nights digging holes and drawing water in people’s gardens (D.L. 7.168–171). See also Muson. fr. 7; 11 Hense.

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Conclusions me pinguem et nitidum bene curata cute vises, // cum ridere voles, Epicuri de grege porcum Hor., Ep. 1.4.15–16

∵ 9.1

A Qualifying View on Sagehood

9.1.1 The Adaptive Sage Philodemus offers his readers a sage for all seasons, a multifaceted figure that is compatible with a wide range of personal traits and circumstances. This sage does not come with a specific set of prerequisites with regard to our social background or financial status. We do not need to be rich to be magnanimous and to look down upon those whom we should rightly consider to be beneath us, nor do we need to be poor in order to lead a sober life. As we have seen, our personal circumstances do not typically determine whether we will be able to achieve sagehood, provided that we learn how to properly factor them into our rational appraisal of all our choices and avoidances in life. Different types of people are faced with different challenges while they have not yet become wise. The achievement of wisdom will not magically change this. Penniless sages still have to deal with difficulties of which a wealthy sage is blissfully exempt, and vice versa. Philodemus is well aware of this and sketches different sages, who are all equally wise, but who apply their wisdom in specific ways, in order to navigate the various benefits and pitfalls that are characteristic of their individual backgrounds. As we saw in chapter three, friendship and friend-making are key concepts for the Epicurean sage’s happiness, both because of friendship’s practical benefits and because of the inescapable human need to establish an emotional connection with another human being. The sage will try to use his individual background to his best advantage in order to make friends and to take proper care of them. Both the poor and the rich sage are, by definition, kind philanthropists and great friends, who engender gratitude for the wisdom they freely share with others. Yet, if the sage also has the chance to acquire a generous

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income without too great an effort, he will work for the sake of his friends with whom he will gladly share the material goods that are the fruits of his efforts, in addition to the immaterial boons of his Epicurean teaching, as we discussed in chapter four We have seen that generosity and gratitude are crucial elements in the sage’s friend-making endeavors. The reciprocal exchange of goods, material as well as immaterial, is what binds people to ourselves and what enables true friendship to blossom. This applies even to the relationships between sages. When a sage wants to befriend a peer, he can make himself known through the application of frank criticism, for which the other will thank him and which will thus lead to an enduring exchange of mutual moral admonition and other signs of appreciation and affection. In sum, every sage tries to befriend people on the basis of philanthropy, generosity, and the expectation of gratitude, but the precise nature of the benefits that he bestows upon his (prospective) friend depends very much on either party’s individual background. Philodemus’ sage does not inhabit a divine intermundium, nor some sterile imaginary realm where events take place in the most predictable of ways. Instead, he is envisaged as a realistic person who lives in our very own imperfect world, amidst countless fools who are wont to act in all sorts of infelicitous ways. In chapter five, we have seen that Philodemus’ sage is perfectly adapted to deal with these fools and with whatever unpleasantness their actions might cause. He will disdain those who are morally inferior and may even feel pity for them on account of the wretchedness of their misguided lives. In fact, he is so well adapted to life in a world of imperfect fools that he will even derive a certain degree of pleasure from the comparison between their misery and his own wise blessedness. If people intentionally harm him, he will not spurn the human emotions that spontaneously arise in him as a natural reaction. He will feel an inevitable and somewhat painful bite of natural anger and may even decide to further pursue his angry impulse if a rational calculus shows that his anger is indeed justified and that an anger-fueled reaction will effectively remove the threat and prevent even greater pain from befalling him. He may also feel hatred and alienation, which will prompt him to steer well clear of vicious people from whom he has learned to expect nothing but pain. As became clear in chapter seven, the sage should also be prepared to deal with slander and false accusations and use his undetected and unassuming life and his circle of friends as bulwarks against these external threats. In sum, Philodemus’ Epicurean sage is specifically designed to exist in a world of human imperfection and moral turpitude and comes equipped with the right mindset to successfully achieve true happiness in spite of this flawed environment.

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9.1.2 The Fallible Sage However, not only the sage’s environment is less than perfect. Whilst the generic Stoic sage is merely a sterile canvas, untainted by the imperfections of the human world, Philodemus’ wise Epicurean is presented as a person of flesh and blood, who already incorporates the inescapable limitations of human existence. Like every human being, even the Epicurean sage is fallible, even though his overriding sense of rationality limits his number of mistakes to an absolute minimum and ensures that they will not usually cause him considerable harm. We saw in chapter six that the sage will experience painful emotional bites in certain situations and accept that these are unavoidable. Yet, even though he cannot escape them, he can most certainly control them by means of rational thought. Some sages may also fall prey to remnants of their erstwhile innate dispositions and behave too harshly when they feel that they have good reason to be angry. These sages may occasionally even jump to conclusions and become angry when that emotion is not really warranted. Philodemus acknowledges that, despite their best intentions, these sages’ harshness may sometimes have unpleasant consequences. It is, no doubt, significant that Philodemus’ sage is described as a person who will readily apologize to people.1 The fact that the absolute pinnacle of human perfection will still have to apologize and will, in fact, demonstrate his wisdom by his willingness to apologize for his actions, says a lot about the inherent human fallibility of this particular breed of sage. Philodemus’ sage does not claim to be a perfect being in the way that the gods are perfect. Rather, he aspires to be a perfect human, which means that he leads an ordinary human’s life, complete with human emotions and practical limitations, but manages to lead that human life in the most perfect and blessed way possible, not like a god in a flawless intermundium, but as a human god among imperfect mortal men.2 9.1.3 The Anti-Stoic Sage Philodemus’ humane and, above all, highly feasible, conceptualization of sagehood offers a provocatively appealing alternative for the (virtually) unreachable Stoic sage, whose all-round perfection leaves no room for human shortcomings. The Stoic student faces the daunting prospect that he will need to devote his entire life to the pursuit of wisdom, in imitation of a role model that might never have walked the earth, knowing that he will, in all likelihood, never become a 1 Sup. 10.5–8. 2 Cf. Epic., Ep. Men. 135. For the wise Epicurean’s godlike status as a variation on the Platonic concept of ὁμοίωσις θεῷ, see Erler (2002).

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true sage himself. In spite of his lifelong commitment to an ideal and his unrelenting efforts to pursue it, he is almost certainly destined to remain a fool for the rest of his life. It must have chafed our Stoic, in lifelong pursuit of this phoenix-like ideal, to glance beyond the στοὰ ποικίλη and into the Epicurean Garden, where self-professed sages of all age groups and backgrounds lounged about, enjoying the delightful fruits of their sagehood. If anyone were to proclaim himself a Stoic sage, he would irrevocably lose that title as soon as he made even the slightest of mistakes. A mere emotional imbalance in a stressful situation or an entirely understandable error of judgment would already be enough to bring him down from his exalted seat of wisdom and to cast him back into the wretched multitudes of utter fools. The Epicurean sage, on the other hand, can afford to make mistakes and to experience painful emotions, provided, of course, that they are relatively mild and immediately made subject to rational assessment. Whilst the later Stoics are struggling to imitate a generic role model without the invaluable help of a historical equivalent, the Epicureans have a whole range of historical sages to defer to, starting with Epicurus himself. In sum, Philodemus’ Epicurean sage trumps his Stoic counterpart in every single respect when it comes to his general appeal as a role model. Indeed, aspiring Epicurean sages may expect their already pleasant study of philosophy to be further rewarded with the supreme satisfaction of reaching their ultimate goal, whereas their Stoic colleagues might occasionally be hard-pressed not to give in to a sense of utter frustration if not defeatism. However, the feasibility of the ideal of the Epicurean sage also has some inconvenient drawbacks, which makes this attractive ideal vulnerable to polemical attacks. The fact that the achievability of sagehood is demonstrated by and built upon the historical examples of Epicurus and his friends offers opponents the possibility to attack the generic Epicurean sage with arguments about the lives of his famous historical incarnations. As a result, Philodemus needs to demonstrate that any irrefutable shortcomings that Epicurus is reported to have had, are not at odds with his status as a sage.3 As we have seen in chapter seven, Philodemus needs to defend his sage against the accusation 3 Of course, only the mistakes that Epicurus made after he claimed sagehood are relevant here. In De Stoicis, Philodemus admits that Epicurus also committed errors in his youth, but he insists that this does not detract from his later status as an Epicurean sage (Stoici 11). Nobody is born a sage, so Philodemus points out. Neocles may once have said that Epicurus was born with the perfect atomic makeup to become wise (Plut., Non posse 1100AB), but that does not mean that this huge potential for wisdom was already realized when Epicurus was still an infant. However, this admission that the young Epicurus was not infallible does not prevent Philodemus from pointing out that the former only made small mistakes, whereas the Stoic Zeno spent his youth writing truly shameful and untruthful things in his Politeia. See also the comments ad loc. in Dorandi (1982).

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of irascibility and a needlessly harsh treatment of students precisely because these are elements that have been reported about Epicurus himself. It requires a lot of philosophical foot-work to explain away these flaws in Epicurus’ own character, in order to maintain both that (1) the sage is perfectly happy, untroubled by serious emotions, and thoroughly rational in his actions, and (2) that Epicurus is the example par excellence of a true Epicurean sage.4 The stakes are exceedingly high here and Philodemus has no other choice than to stay true to both premises at the same time if he wants to avoid that Epicurus is demoted to a mere proficiens and the Epicurean sage elevated to unreachable heights. A defense of both the sage’s feasibility and the veracity of Epicurus’ sagehood requires a radical application of the qualifying conceptualization of Epicurean ethics, which Philodemus is clearly willing to carry out. Thus, an extraordinary image of the sage emerges, in which the ultimate Epicurean role model is thoroughly human, as even the minute flaws and peculiarities of his character are exemplified by very concrete elements from the life of the historical Epicurus. 9.1.4 The Bashful Sage? Epicurus did not claim sagehood for himself alone. Instead, he considered his followers to be sages as well and urged them to lay claim to that title. If Epicurean wisdom is so feasible as it is suggested to be, almost every single Epicurean worth his salt should call himself a sage. Natural goods are, after all, easy to acquire, which means that the realization of sagehood should not pose any problem at all for any properly committed Epicurean. We might, therefore, expect that prominent teachers of Epicureanism such as Philodemus, Zeno of Sidon, or Siro should be able to call themselves sages. Strikingly, Epicurus seems to be the only Epicurean of whom we know that he effectively followed through on the bold policy to claim sagehood. Throughout the preserved sections of his works, Philodemus never calls himself wise. Even when he actually talks about sages, he never writes anything that might be taken as a clear indication that he places himself in that class of people.5 This seems to suggest that, perhaps, later Epicureans did not consider themselves sages at all and were content to preserve that status for the Garden’s Founding Fathers. Yet, even if we accept the somewhat odd hypothesis that they might have interpreted Epicurus’ exhortation to claim wisdom as something that only applied to the Epicureans of the first generation, it would still be problematic for them not to think of themselves as sages. It is obviously completely 4 Cf. Ranocchia (2007), 156–157. 5 DeWitt (1936), 208 has suggested that Philodemus counts himself among the Epicurean teachers who are inferior to the sage and the philosopher (Lib. dic. fr. 35), but this view has been refuted by Gigante (1983), 112.

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understandable that the Stoics would have to accept mere proficientes as teachers and heads of their school. If they would have to wait around for the sage to come into existence, which might only happen once every five centuries or so, the school would simply have failed to survive past the very first generation of Stoics. If Epicurean sagehood is, however, supposed to be readily achievable, one might rightly ask what business an unwise Epicurean might have teaching Epicurean philosophy to others, let alone that someone might be mad enough to make such a deplorable fool head of the Garden itself. If Philodemus is not a sage, ought he not devote his time to the necessary interiorization of essential Epicurean doctrine, rather than to teach others or to waste his time writing polemical works on music, rhetoric, and poetry? There should, after all, be plenty of wise Epicureans around to take those more advanced tasks upon themselves, if, indeed, whatever is in accordance with our nature is by definition easy to acquire. Yet, if there are no other sages in Philodemus’ time and if not a single sage has been found since Epicurus’ days, then, surely, this must either mean that the precept about the easy acquisition of natural goods is completely wrong, or that all later generations of Epicureans have simply been too lazy or incompetent to apply even the most basic precepts of their vaunted doctrine to their own lives. Neither possibility appears particularly attractive, nor is it likely that Philodemus and his brethren would have been willing to question the feasible nature of the good life. The more plausible option is, in my view, that they definitely considered themselves wise Epicureans, who were, not unlike their Master, occasionally troubled by some mild, yet virtually inevitable side effects of human imperfection. The fact that Philodemus may have thought about himself as a sage, does not necessarily require him to publicly proclaim his sagehood in his books. Epicurus’ decision to claim sagehood for himself and his pupils was arguably a very bold and, in the eyes of many, perhaps even downright scandalous move. Centuries later, Cicero still frowns upon the temerity of a person who would claim this status for himself, rather than to wait for others to award it to him by general consensus.6 It is probably safe to assume that it would not have been very salonfähig for Philodemus or any other later Epicurean to openly imitate Epicurus’ provocativeness. We should bear in mind Philodemus’ statement that even the sage might be falsely accused of arrogance and that one should be as unassuming as possible to avoid the unpleasantness that might accrue from an arrogant reputation. The right question is, perhaps, not whether Philodemus calls himself a sage in his writings, but, rather, what his answer would have been if anyone had asked him whether or not he considered himself a sage. In light of the general characteristics of his conceptualization of sagehood and 6 Cic., Fin. 2.7.

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the overall feasibility of the good life, there is every chance that his answer would be ‘Yes, in principle I do, but it would be unwise to boast about it’. 9.2

The Limits of Qualifying Philosophy

The feasibility of sagehood is a direct consequence of Epicureanism’s qualifying nature, which allows its followers to deviate considerably from its standard guidelines, provided that this deviation is sanctioned by a correct rational calculus of pain and pleasure. As a result, sages may arise from a variety of social backgrounds. If you own land, there is no reason why you would not be allowed to become a wealthy landowning sage. If you cannot give up politics without doing yourself harm, you might as well become a politically active sage, who patiently waits for the right time to withdraw from the public scene. You sell fish on the market and are prepared to do so in an Epicurean way, without causing yourself needless disturbances? Well, then you will, in all likelihood, have the opportunity to become a wise fishmonger. Even if you are an Epicurean’s humble house slave, wisdom might perhaps still be an option, as Mys’ case seems to suggest. Unlike the Stoic sage, Philodemus’ perfect Epicurean is definitely not nearly as rare as the Ethiopian phoenix. In fact, one might almost wonder why the ancient world was not completely overrun with Epicurean sages if, indeed, wisdom is compatible with any background. Yet, even the qualifying nature of Epicurean philosophy must have its limits.7 As we have seen in chapter two, literacy and a sound knowledge of Greek is an unavoidable practical prerequisite for sagehood. Epicureanism may be flexible enough to accommodate a wide range of less than ideal life circumstances, but the thorough study of its core precepts in their original form remains an unnegotiable necessity. Specialized teaching techniques, handbooks, and epitomes might facilitate the learning process to some extent, but when it comes to the need to study the core tenets of Epicurean philosophy, there are no real shortcuts.8 Besides literacy, one also needs leisure. Epicurus says that even an old man who has almost run out of time should still try to learn philosophy.9 Yet, as scant as his remaining time on this earth might be, 7 Apart even from the fact that, in all likelihood, many (common) people did not really know what Epicureanism entailed, let alone that they would have been able to fully appreciate the need to abandon their foolish beliefs in favor of Epicurus’ philosophical salvation. 8 Philodemus’ Adversus eos qui se libros nosse profitentur is, in fact, directed against Epicureans who try to take one shortcut too many, resorting to epitomes to the point that the true gist of Epicureanism simply eludes them. Cf. MacGillivray (2015), 23–28; Damiani (2021), 150–154. 9 Epic., Ep. Men. 122.

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the freeborn elderly student can spend every single hour of it as he sees fit. The real problem lies with those who might still have many years ahead of them, but whose time is not theirs to spend. As we saw in chapter eight, slaves who spend every waking hour performing heavy labor lack both the time and guidance to study even the basics of Epicureanism, let alone that they might ever have the chance to become actual sages. How can a slave who spends his short life working the silver mines make decisions on the basis of a calculus of pains and pleasures, if pain is all there is to his life, while past, present, and future pleasures are deplorably few in number? In fact, how can this slave even be expected to make rationally motivated decisions when none of his life choices are his to make and when his every choice and avoidance are determined by his owner’s uncaring calculus of profit and expenses? The Epicureans maintained that pain can always be endured: either it is intense, but of short duration, or it is long-lasting, but mild and therefore easy to bear (KD 4). We might, however, wonder whether one might ever hope to achieve wisdom and supreme happiness when one’s entire life is filled with pain and hardship. Epicurus famously overcame the unpleasantness of painful and debilitating illnesses through rational thought and pleasant memories.10 Yet, may someone who is not yet wise even hope to become a sage when his or her every waking hour is plagued by sickness and pain? Is it possible for such a person to pursue a state of being that ought to lead to supreme pleasure and the avoidance of pain, when lifelong pain is the only thing that he or she may still expect from the future?11 To draw upon one of Cicero’s polemical examples: let Epicurus try to soothe Philoctetes, who spent ten seemingly endless years alone on Lemnos, continuously tormented by intense mental and physical agony, while a viper’s painful venom coursed through his veins.12 Can Epicurus’ doctrine make a blissful sage out of such an unfortunate creature? Cicero seriously doubts it at any rate and his doubt does not appear to be entirely unwarranted. Indeed, even Philodemus’ strikingly humane and feasible idea of sagehood might have its own practical limitations. Practical Epicurean guidelines can be bent and adapted to suit an individual’s circumstances, but, in the end, there needs to be some limit to this, as the aforementioned examples would suggest. The Epicureans are many things, but no one can say that they are naïve or 10 D.L. 10.22. 11 Not even to mention people whose rational capacities have been (partially) impaired by a medical condition and who are, as a result, physically unable to interiorize and apply Epicurean doctrine. Cf. Chandler (2018), 468–469; 473. 12 Cic., Fin. 2.94–95.

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unpractical. Epicurus himself was realistic enough to state that even his highly feasible version of wisdom will not be achieved universally. As a benevolent philanthropist, he may have regretted this fact, but as a practically minded and consistently truthful thinker, he certainly had the intellectual honesty to acknowledge the limitations of his philosophical project. From a strictly atomistic perspective, all can become wise in principle, but that does not necessarily mean that all will effectively reach wisdom. Yet, that does not mean that Epicurus and several generations later Philodemus did not try to offer Epicurean salvation to as many people as they possibly could. 9.3

Final Conclusion

Even though Philodemus’ ideal is perfectly attuned to the imperfections of human nature and life in this world, certain practical difficulties will still prevent some people from becoming wise Epicureans. However, compared to his direct rival, the Stoic sage, Philodemus’ Epicurean sage is certainly an enticing role model. This is an ideal that holds a realistic promise of wisdom and happiness and that offers it to numerous people from a wide range of social and dispositional backgrounds. It is an achievable ideal that does not require people to uproot their lives entirely, nor to completely discard their former personality to become a superhuman sage. Instead, it departs from the lives that people already have and offers them a way to sublimate those imperfect human lives into their best possible versions. The Epicurean sage is not rare as the legendary phoenix, nor is he any less human than the average person. He does not live in an idealized imaginary world, but right here, in our midst, where anyone who wishes to learn more about his wonderful way of life can approach him and listen to his words. He is a person of flesh and blood, with his own set of emotions and individual character traits, someone who embodies human imperfection in the most blissfully perfect way possible and who is always willing to share his happiness with his fellow human beings. The Epicurean sage, then, is indeed as common as a pig, to be found in the more quiet corners of society, where leisure and simple pleasures can be enjoyed. Yet, he is certainly not an ordinary pig. His supreme happiness and thoroughly benevolent disposition set him apart and make him stand out as a blissful human pig from Epicurus’ own sty.

Appendix: Philodemus’ Papyrological Writings An Overview of the Cited Papyri and Their Editions

Ethical Works

1. De vitiis atque oppositis virtutibus, Περὶ τῶν κακιῶν καὶ τῶν [ἀντικειμένων ἀρετῶν] [ἐν οἷς εἰσι καὶ περὶ ἅ] Book 1: De adulatione, Περὶ κολακείας (PHerc. 222) – T. Gargiulo (1981), ‘PHerc. 222: Filodemo sull’adulazione’, CErc 11, 103–127. Liber incertus on flattery and related issues (PHerc. 1675) – V. De Falco (1926), ‘Appunti sul ΠΕΡΙ ΚΟΛΑΚΕΙΑΣ di Filodemo. Pap. erc. 1675’, RIGI 10, 15–26. – M. Capasso (2005), ‘L’intellettuale e il suo re (Filodemo, L’adulazione, PHerc 1675, col. V 21–32)’, SEP 2, 47–52. Book 9: De oeconomia, Περὶ οἰκονομίας (PHerc. 1424) – V. Tsouna (2013), Philodemus, On Property Management. Translated with an Introduction and Notes, Atlanta, GA. Book 10: De superbia, Περὶ ὑπερηφανίας (PHerc. 1008) – C. Jensen (1911), Philodemi ΠΕΡΙ ΚΑΚΙΩΝ liber decimus, Lipsiae. – Col. 10–24: G. Ranocchia (2007), Aristone Sul modo di liberare dalla superbia nel decimo libro De vitiis di Filodemo, Firenze. – Col. 1–10.10: G. Indelli (2010), ‘Le colonne I–X di P.Herc. 1008 (Filodemo, I vizi, libro X)’, in T. Gagos (ed.), Proceedings of the Twenty-Fifth International Congress of Papyrology, Ann Arbor, MI, 323–334. 2. De ira, Περὶ ὀργῆς (PHerc. 182) – D. Armstrong – M. McOsker (2020), Philodemus, On Anger. Introduction, Greek Text, and Translation, Atlanta, GA. 3. De invidia, Περὶ φθόνου (PHerc. 1678) – A. Tepedino Guerra (1985), ‘Il PHerc. 1678: Filodemo sull’invidia?’, CErc 15, 113–125.

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4. De vitis, Περὶ ἠθῶν καὶ βίων De libertate dicendi, Περὶ παρρησίας (PHerc. 1471) – D. Konstan  – D. Clay  – C. E. Glad  – J. C. Thom  – J. Ware (1998), Philodemus. On Frank Criticism. Introduction, Translation, and Notes, Atlanta, GA. – W. B. Henry’s new readings, as printed in Armstrong  – McOsker (2020), 68–71. Perhaps also part of this ensemble: De conversatione, Περὶ ὁμιλίας (PHerc. 873/1399) – F. Amoroso (1975), ‘Filodemo sulla conversazione’, CErc 5, 63–76. De gratia, Περὶ χάριτος (PHerc. 1414) – A. Tepedino Guerra (1977), ‘Filodemo Sulla gratitudine’, CErc 7, 96–113. 5. De morte, Περὶ θανάτου (PHerc. 1050) – D. Delattre (2022), Philodème de Gadare. Sur la mort. Livre IV, Paris. 6. De divitiis, Περὶ πλούτου (PHerc. 163) – A. Tepedino Guerra (1978), ‘Il primo libro sulla richezza di Filodemo’, CErc 8, 52–95. 7. De electionibus et fugis, Περὶ αἱρέσεων καὶ φυγῶν (PHerc. 1251) – G. Indelli – V. Tsouna-McKirahan (1995), [Philodemus]. [On Choices and Avoidances]. Edited with Translation and Commentary, Napoli.

Doxographical and Polemical Works

8. De Epicuro, Περὶ Ἐπικούρου (PHerc. 1232, 1289) – A. Tepedino Guerra (1994), ‘L’opera filodemea Su Epicuro (PHerc. 1232, 1289β)’, CErc 24, 5–53. 9. De Stoicis, Περὶ τῶν Στοικῶν (PHerc. 155+339) – T. Dorandi (1982), ‘Filodemo, Gli Stoici (PHerc. 155 e 339)’, CErc 12, 91–133.

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10. [Adversus eos qui se libros nosse profitentur, Πρὸς τοὺς φασκοβιβλιακούς] (PHerc. 1005/862+1485) – A. Angeli (1988), Filodemo. Agli amici di scuola (PHerc. 1005). Edizione, traduzione e commento, Napoli. 11. Vita Philonidis, Βίος Φιλονίδου (PHerc. 1044/1746/1715) – I. Gallo (2002), Studi di papirologia ercolanese, Napoli.

Rhetoric, Music, and Poetics

12. De rhetorica, Περὶ ῥητορικῆς, Book 2 (PHerc. 1674 + 425, 1079, 1086, 1580, 1672 + 408, 409, 1117, 1573, 1574) – F. Longo Auricchio (1977), ‘Φιλοδήμου περὶ ῥητορικῆς libros primum et secundum’, in F. Sbordone (ed.), Ricerche sui Papiri Ercolanesi. Vol. 3, Napoli. 13. De musica, Περὶ μουσικῆς, Book 4 (PHerc. 1497 + 225, 411, 424, 1094, 1572, 1575, 1576, 1578, 1583) – D. Delattre (2007), Philodème de Gadare. Sur la musique. Livre IV. Tome II, Paris. 14. De poematis, Περὶ ποιημάτων, Book 5 (PHerc. 1581, 403, 407, 228, 1425; 1538) – C. Mangoni (1993), Filodemo, il quinto libro della poetica, Napoli. 15. De bono rege secundum Homerum, Περὶ τοῦ καθ᾿ Ὅμηρον ἀγαθοῦ βασιλέως (PHerc. 1507) – T. Dorandi (1982), Filodemo. Il buon re secondo Omero. Edizione, traduzione e commento, Napoli. – J. Fish (1999), Philodemus, De bono rege secundum Homerum: A Critical Text with Commentary (cols. 21–39), Austin, TX [diss.]. – J. Fish (1999), ‘Philodemus on the Education of the Good Prince: PHerc. 1507, col. 23’, in G. Abbamonte – A. Rescigno (eds.), Satura: Collectanea philologica Italo Gallo ab amicis discipulisque dictata, Napoli, 71–77. – J. Fish (2002), ‘Philodemus’ On the Good King According to Homer: Columns 21–31’, CErc 32, 187–232. – J. Fish (2011), ‘On Orderly Symposia in Homer. A New Reconstruction of De bono Rege (PHerc. 1507), col. 19’, CErc 41, 65–68.

272

Appendix: Philodemus ’ Papyrological Writings

– J. Fish (2016), ‘The Closing Columns of Philodemus’ On the Good King According to Homer, PHerc. 1507 Cols. 95–98 (= Cols. 40–43 Dorandi)’, CErc 46, 55–81.

Works on Theology and Religion

16. De pietate, Περὶ εὐσεβείας (PHerc. 1428) – Obbink, D. (1996), Philodemus. On Piety. Part 1. Critical Text with Commentary, Oxford. 17. De dis, Περὶ θεῶν, Book 3 (?) (PHerc. 152/157) – H. Diels (1917), Philodemos über die Götter, Drittes Buch, Berlin. – H. Essler (2013), ‘Freundschaft der Götter und Toten. Mit einer Neuedition von Phld., Di III, Frg. 87 und 83’, CErc 43, 95–111.

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Index Locorum Alexander of Aphrodisias Fat. 28.199.16–18 (=SVF 3.658) 1, 8 Ammianus Marcellinus 30.4.3

90

Aristotle EN 1110b24–27 184 1124a21–b6 103 1158b23–28 209 1162b2–4 209 1163b11–12 209 1164a32–33 71 1164a33–b2 59 1171a7–13 38, 72 Pol. 1292a21–24 209 Rhet. 1370b9–16 156 1378b1–10 156 1382a1–14 150 1382a31 152 1385b2 112 1385b2–3 113 1421b14 32 1421b18 32 Asconius Pis. 68 202 Athenaeus Deipn. 2.6.18 2.36–41 12.547A 13.588A

193 187 214 13

Cato the Elder Agr. 1 116 2 236 3–4 116 4 236

Cicero Acad. 1.5 15 1.42 8 Amic. 45 38, 72 Div. 2.61 8 Fin. 1.4–10 16 1.10 16 1.42 87 1.62 130 1.67–68 82 1.69 49 2.7 9, 61, 217, 265 2.67 106 2.74 112 2.94–95 267 2.101 9 3.15 16 3.69–70 37 3.70 45 5.1.3 9 Off. 1.136 178 1.150 247 1.151 116, 237 2.87 234 3.39 118 Rep. 1.4–11 106 1.5 106 1.10–11 11 Sen. 51 239 51–55 238 56 236, 239, 240 59 234 60 240 Tusc. 3.28 99, 223 4.6 15, 92 In Pis. 65 204 68 202, 203

294

Index Locorum 10.118

Cicero In Pis. (cont.) 70 70–71 71

201, 203, 204 139 202

Clement of Alexandria Strom. 1.15

16, 248

Colotes In Plat. Lys. PHerc. 208.8.(fr.30).8–11 (= T. 6.12a 8.8–11 Cr.) Diogenes Laertius 2.24–25 2.74 2.80 7.113 7.118 7.168–171 10.2 10.3 10.3–4 10.4–5 10.6 10.8 10.9 10.10

10.119 10.120

10.138

8

70 70 70 152 192 259 246, 248, 249 51 200 200 13, 33, 122, 154 14, 214 29, 179 29, 30, 41, 179, 246, 247, 249 10.11 43, 53 10.10–11 38 10.12 193 10.13 14 10.16–22 168 10.18 19 10.21 252 10.22 29, 160, 267 10.24 51, 102 10.31 145, 152 10.31–32 224 10.31–34 224 10.33 225, 226 10.34 224 10.117 14, 27, 51, 59, 120, 135, 136, 205, 230, 248 10.117–120 11

Diogenes of Oenoanda Fr. 3.4.3–13 Fr. 19 Fr. 19.2.6–11 Fr. 30.1.2–2.11 Fr. 33.6.4–11 Fr. 56 Fr. 56.1.14–2.1 Fr. 71 I–II Fr. 71+NF 214+fr. 72+fr. 70 Fr. 112 Fr. 112.1–3 Theol. 4.5 Theol. 5.7–6.2 Epictetus Diss. 2.20.18 3.14.4–6 Ench. 47

54, 74, 127, 215, 249 11, 69, 181, 187, 192 14, 37, 51, 54, 62, 63, 68, 71, 87, 96, 122, 173, 204, 213, 231, 240 153 67 109 33 35 129, 134 14, 255 256 23, 102, 229 96 69, 155 13 106 247

189 189 189

Epicurus Ep. Men. 122 266 123–124 109 127 195 128–129 153 129–130 113, 129, 241 130 147 130–132 11 132 20, 75, 250 133–135 23, 102, 229 135 13, 94, 172, 262 Ep. Pyth. 86–88 57 Nat. 14.30.1–3 106

295

Index Locorum KD

SV

1 34 2 114 3 27 4 157, 267 5 101, 102 7 154 15 57, 254 21 13 27 29, 37, 179, 217 28 29, 37, 179, 217 29 195 33 118 35 101, 118, 160 37 27 39 35, 36 20 195 23 25, 37, 39, 42 27 91, 169 28 38, 72, 216 34 42 39 42, 43 51 74 52 37, 42, 57, 217 56 82 66 82

Eusebius PE 6.8.13 (= SVF 3.668) 6.8.16 (= SVF 3.668)

1, 8 1, 8

Florus 1.11 236 Gnomologium Vaticanum 253

26, 28

Homer Il. 10.246–247 15.41.–413

79 6

Horace Carm. 1.1.59–60 Ep. 1.4.15–16

116 260

1.4.16 1 1.18.9 207 Sat. 1.4.132 208 1.5.40–43 208 1.10.81 208 Isocrates Pace 8.4

209

Livy AUC 3.26 236 Lucian Merc. cond. 38 207 39–40 207 40 207 Nigr. 23–24 203 Par. 1 88 21 88 26 88 26–27 88 61 66 Vit. auct. 20 8 Lucretius 1.136–145 1.451–452 1.456–458 2.1–4 2.3–4 2.5–6 2.7–13 3.1–30 3.294–298 3.306–322 3.307–322 3.476–483 4.353–363 4.1018–1019 4.1037–1287 5.10 5.1019–1027

16, 76 248 248 129 163 129 130 9 186 13, 212 20, 191 185 224 118 74 87 26, 131

296

Index Locorum

Lucretius (cont.) 5.1102–1104 5.1113–1116 5.1281–1296 5.1281–1349 5.1361–1366 5.1361–1457 5.1379–1383

85 249 249 87 85 85 85

Metrodorus Fr. 60 K

204

Musonius Rufus Fr. 7 Hense Fr. 11 Hense

259 259

Pausanias 1.25.1

193

Philo of Alexandria Agr. 143 144ff. 147 150–161 166–167 170–171

189 190 189 187 190 190

Philodemus Adul. PHerc. 222.2 PHerc. 222.2.1–7 PHerc. 222.2.2–7 PHerc. 222.2.5–7 PHerc. 222.2.10–16 PHerc. 222.2.13–16 PHerc. 222.2.16–21 PHerc. 1082.2.1–3 PHerc. 1082.2.1–14 PHerc. 1675.4.26–28 PHerc. 1675.12.17ff. PHerc. 1675.13.15–17 PHerc. 1675.13.17–23 PHerc. 1675.13.32–35 Adversus 4.9–14 16.16–18

201, 209 228 111, 199 74 199 73 199 207 208 199 221 73 73 73 67 15, 258

Bon. rex 5.37 220 8.15 106 19 195 23.14–19 121 37.27–31 105 Conv. 5.1–2 61 5.8–13 61 Di 3.14.6–8 16 3.14.12–13 16 Fr. 84.26–85.7 43 Fr. 87.6–8 41 Fr. 87.26–29 43 Fr. 87.27–29 41 Elect. et fugae 11.7–20 92 13 20 14.1–9 101 14.6 30, 37, 179 14.6–7 110 20.14–21 80 21.2–9 48 22.5–7 217 22.9–12 40 22.15–21 36 Epicur. 17.16–17 102 24.2–9 205 26 143 26.1–12 205 28.6–21 32 Epigr. 8.4 (= A.P. 10.21) 142 27 (= A.P. 9.44) 9 Grat. 10 54 Inv. Fr. 17 89, 162 Fr. 18 170 Ira Fr. 17–33 67 Fr. 24.10–17 249 1–7 67, 173 1.20–27 214 2.6–15 174

297

Index Locorum Philodemus Ira (cont.) 7.6–9 7.13–24 11.5–21 12.17–22 12.30–13.27 13.11–17 17.15–23 19.12–20.3 20.28–21.4 20.34–21.4 21.16–40 22.24–31 23.35–40 24.17 24.17–20 24.17–36 24.20–36 31.24–32.40 31.35–38 33.1–7 33.1–28 33.28–34 33.34–37 34.16–22 34.39–36.6 35 35.2–5 35.17 35.17–28 36.3 36.17–28 37.4–7 37.16–20 37.18–20 37.20–39 37.32–39 38.18–27 38.18–34 38.34–39.7 40.2 40.2–6 40.6–10 40.15–22 40.27–32 41.1–8 41.1–9

173 74 22, 27 166, 167 22, 27 28 56 21, 68, 255 24 156 25 26 249 28 249 22, 27, 215, 249 249 155 155 141, 155 28 155 56 177 111, 211–212 98 144 98 145 99 97, 177 222 166, 167 140 140 146 143, 171 19 143 140–141, 157 146 146 146 146 153 171

41.8–9 41.1–31 41.3–6 41.17–25 41.17–26 41.39–42.12 42.4–12 42.21–40 42.24 44.16–22 44.22–32 44.26–28 44.35–50.8 45.1–5 45.19 46.18–30 46.30–35 46.40–47.9 48.20–32 48.33–49.26 48.36–49.4 49.18–26 49.24–26 49.33–39 49.33–50.8 Lib. dic. Fr. 6 Fr. 7 Fr. 8 Fr. 9 Fr. 9.6–9 Fr. 10.1–3 Fr. 14 Fr. 14.5–10 Fr. 15 Fr. 26.9–10 Fr. 28.3–12 Fr. 35 Fr. 39 Fr. 40 Fr. 40.5–14 Fr. 43 Fr. 45.1–6 Fr. 45.7–9 Fr. 45.7–11 Fr. 49 Fr. 57.1–6

157 19 154 44, 174–175 135 148 154 153, 155 155 156, 171 155 30 140, 223 225 223 55 56 184–185 58 186–187 214 188 188 15 142 10 68, 176 93 10 135 90 176 210 10 166 42 264 93 93 79 77–78 79 9 68 10 74

298 Philodemus Lib. dic. (cont.) Fr. 57.1–11 94–95 Fr. 60 176 Fr. 60.11–12 179 Fr. 62.7–13 212–213 Fr. 63 93 Fr. 64 93 Fr. 67.9–12 68 Fr. 68.1–2 90 Fr. 69 93 Fr. 70 22 Fr. 70.7–15 68 Fr. 73 10 Fr. 79 (= 81N) 83 Fr. 83.4–5 (= 86N) 155 Fr. 85.5–10 29, 37, 179 Fr. 86 (= 90N) 93 Fr. 87 22 Fr. 87N.5–6 30, 215 2b.2–8 77 3b 212 3b.1–14 96–97 3b.4 99 3b.10–14 74–75 5a 212 5a.5–6 24 5b 10 6b 10 8a.1–9 60 8a–9b 60 8b.1–13 61–62 8b.11–13 166 9a.1–8 63 12a 166 17a 93 20b 214 22a 126 22a–24b 68 22b.1–9 125 23a 127, 210 23b 127, 210 24a 127, 210 24b 127 Tab. 2 fr. 6 10 M. 86.6–10 82 96.32 169

Index Locorum 96.32–36 125 97.1–9 125 98.6–11 125 101.34–102.3 114 104.2–10 168 104.27–30 168 104.30–34 168 104.34–37 168 105.7–106.8 169 106.8–15 168 111.31–112.23 115 112.23–25 121 112.25–31 69, 115 112.31–36 121 112.37–113.1 159 113.12 159 113.15–21 116 113.21–114.11 158–159 114.34–39 38–39, 169 114.39–115.2 169 115.28 169, 220 117.5 106 Mus. 4.79.33–36 109 4.130 193 4.140.2 106 Oec. 7.5–26 256 7.10–14 239 7.26–37 234, 239 7.31 240 9.26–32 250 9.26–44 249, 254 9.32–44 194 9.44–10.7 249 10.15–21 249, 254 10.21–26 255 11.16–17 232, 241 11.30–41 241–242 12.17–19.47 246 12.18–15.3 105, 116 12.25ff 105 12.5–25 86 12.29–14.23 46 14.37–15.6 47 15.1–6 105 16.45–17.12 244

299

Index Locorum Philodemus Oec. (cont.) 17.2–40 46 17.23–26. 87 18.37–39 87 18.40–47 241 19.4–5 87 19.4–12 87 20.1–32 86 22.17–28 69 23.3–5 249 23.5–9 246 23.7–9 240 23.8–14 216 23.9–22 246 23.11–14 255 23.22–32 246 23.23–30 68 23.32–36 71 23.36–24.2 243 24.19–29 49 24.29–35 34 24.35–25.4 49 24.37–25.1 233 25.1 51 25.14–23 50, 105 26.1–9 48 26.9–18 244 26.18–28 239 26–27 87 27.5–9 168 Piet. 1.26–27 109 40.1138–1165 34 40.1139–41.1161 214 41.1160–1165 109 41.1182 106 42.1190–1199 220 51.1449–1451 109 Poem. 5.22.2–8 197 5.26.3 106 Rh. 2.PHerc. 1674.38.2–15 85 2.2 93 2.3 89 2.17–18 89 2.24 89 2.26 93

Lib. incert. 1.33–39 (p. 259 Sudhaus) 139, 161 Stoici 11 263 11.17–20 14 Sup. 4.22–26 20 5.31–34 21 6 219–220 6.2–26 104 6.2–35 216 6.19–20 213 6.26–35 107 8.11–12 19, 110 8.21–34 23 9.1–4 19, 110 9.1–10 110 9.7–10 31, 110 9.10–11 19, 110 9.24–37 217, 250 10 213 10.1–10 218 10.5–8 262 12.1–12 130 12.12–36 23 14.2–22 22 15.3–9 108 15.23–34 103 18.11–38 19 Plato Ap. 23AB 28D10–29A1 Charm. 153B9–C1 Lach. 181A7–B4 Symp. 204B 220D5–E2 221E8–222C1 223BD Grg. 469A 469AB Leg. 705A

7 7 7 7 7 7 7 7, 190 117 163 116

300 Pliny the Younger Ep. 9.33

Index Locorum

57

Plutarch Adul. 49B 199 51CD 210 59A 199 59C 210 59EF 210 60D 210 61E–52B 210 Adv. Col. 1108EF 9, 61 1109EF 185, 196 1124C 114 1124E 214 1125C 11 1125D 189, 195, 214 1126C 205 1127B 106 1127D 118 1127DE 106 Amic. mult. 94E–97A 72 Apoph. Lac. 220E 8 Cur. 516E 33 De coh. ira 457A 56 461A 56 De inv. et od. 537A 23 537BC 151 538AB 130 538E 152 De lat. viv. 1128C 106 1129B 33, 106 1128F–1129A 68 1129B 214 De prof. in virt. 84B–85B 7 85AB 7 De tranq. anim. 470AB 130

De tuenda 132BC Garr. 503DE Non posse 1090E 1094D 1097C 1097E 1097F 1098CD 1100A 1100AB 1100D Quaest. conv. 653D 655C 673CD 673C–674C (5.1) Reg. et imper. apoph. 192B Vit. Per. 16.8–9 (Ps.?–)Plutarch Lib. educ. 1D Cons. ad Apoll. 119C

193 186 41 13 106 196 82 106, 189, 195, 214 6, 9, 61, 72 135, 263 189, 195 74 106 130 33 8 70

193 82

Polybius Hist. 15.25.22

193

Porphyry Abst. 3.2.3

1, 8

Scholia ad Dionysium Thracem 108.27 85 Seneca Dial. 5.31.3 130 8.3.2 11 Ep. 22.5–6 11, 251 25.5 9

301

Index Locorum Seneca Ep. (cont.) 28.9 42.1 52.3 52.3–4 52.4 83 83.10 83.12 83.17 83.17–18 83.20 83.27 Ira 1.4 Tranq. an 17.8–9 17.9 Sententiae Pythagoreorum 13

20, 110 1, 8 14 12, 76 13, 76 187 192 190 191, 193 191 190 191 192 192 192 26, 28

Sextus Empiricus M. 1.49 14 1.57 9 7.140 149 7.208 224 7.212 224 7.432 9 7.433 223 11.21 9 11.170 88 P. 1.57 61 11.21 61 Sophocles Phil. 227–28

18

Statius Silvae 2.2.131–132

101

Stobaeus Flor. 2.7 92 2.66 8

2.111 8 3.210 130 17.23 57 Theophrastus Char. 2 24.9–10 Oec. 1344a31–34 Varro RR 1.1.8–9 1.2.6–7 1.2.25–28 1.4.1 1.13.6 1.13.6–7 1.59.2 2.intr.2 3.2.5–6 3.3.1 3.4.3 3.17.2 3.17.2–9 3.17.5–8

209 218 194

233 235 235 237 237, 244 237 237 237 244 237 237 242 244 242

Vergil Georg. 2.472 241 2.513–514 241 2.216 241 4.118 241 4.133 241 Xenophon Hipparch. 8.8 241 Oec. 2.8 70 15.2–3 238 15.10–11 240 20.25 237 20.26–29 240

Index Nominum Agesilaus 7n9 Ajax 141 Alcibiades 7n8, 74 Amafinius 15, 92n83 Anaxagoras 70n14 Antipater 56n111 Aristo of Ceos 22, 102, 103, 104, 108, 130n83 Aristo of Chios 22n18, 102n6 Aristotle 32, 56n109, 59n116, 71, 81, 103, 111, 112, 118, 119, 128, 135, 150, 151, 154n146, 156n156, 184n58, 209, 247, 248 Asconius 202n14 Athenaeus 193n89 Atticus 41, 72, 207 Boethus 33n53, 130n82 Caesar 190n75, 201 Callisthenes 158 Carneades 204 Carneiscus 10n24 Cassius 190n75, 196 Catiline 217 Cato the Elder 116n52, 233, 235, 236 Cato the Elder (Ciceronian spokesman) 234, 238, 239, 240, 241n32 Chrysippus 204 Cicero 8n12, 16, 38n69, 38n71, 41, 45n86, 72, 81n46, 92n83, 99n98, 112n40, 116n52, 139, 162n170, 201–206, 207, 211, 217, 223, 229, 234, 235n8, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241n32, 242, 246n46, 265, 267 Cincinnatus 236, 241n32 Cleanthes 259n89 Clodius 201 Cnemon 18n1 Crates 197n102 Dante Alighieri 79n40 Demetrius Lacon 144n117 Democritus 149 Diogenes Laertius 10, 29, 51, 69n13, 70, 102, 127, 139n102, 187, 200–201, 213, 247, 248 Diogenes of Babylon 193n90

Diogenes of Oenoanda 14n41, 35, 41, 66–67, 136, 214n62, 247, 248n50, 255–256 Diogenes of Sinope 26n28 Diomedes 79, 141 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 200 Dionysus 195n97 Diotimus (Stoic) 200 Dracon 257 Epaminondas 7n9, 106 Epicurus passim Galen 81n46 Hermarchus 49, 51n99 Herodotus (Epicurean) 200 Horace 116n52, 207, 208, 209 Hortensius 242n36 Idomeneus 11, 29, 72, 200, 251n69 Isomachus 237, 240n29, 256, 257, 258 Lentulus 162n170 Lucian 88, 193n89, 207n29 Lucretius 9n21, 15, 16, 26–28, 30, 74n28, 76n34, 86n63, 87n68, 109n34, 118n58, 129–134, 163, 185, 186, 191n80, 212, 248, 249n60 Lucullus 237 Lycurgus 7n9, 106 Memmius 76n34 Metrodorus 69n13, 82n52, 102, 105, 189n75, 195, 196n99, 200, 204n18, 214 Miltiades 106 Mithres 72, 200, 206 Mys 246, 248, 251–253, 254, 259, 266 Nausiphanes 14n43 Neocles 72n22, 263n3 Nicasicrates (Epicurean) 143–146, 167, 178n44, 197, 215, 222–223, 228 Niceratus 136 Nicolaus (Peripatetic) 200

303

Index Nominum Odysseus 79 Palamedes 158 Panaetius 178n44 Pericles 70n14 Philo of Alexandria 187, 189, 193 Philoctetes 18, 267 Philodemus passim Piso 2, 15n47, 68, 70n15, 72, 100, 139, 141n110, 162n170, 198, 201, 202, 203, 204, 209, 210–211, 251n69 Plato 7, 88, 116n52, 154n146, 163, 190n79, 193n89 Pliny the Younger 57n112 Plotinus 81n46 Plotius 208 Plutarch 7n8, 23n20, 33n53, 41n77, 68n9, 72n22, 82n52, 106n21, 193n87, 196n99 Polyaenus 185n60 Posidonius 200 Pythocles 114n48, 122n64, 154n144 Rabirius 15 Sallust 217n80 Seneca 20, 75, 187, 191, 192n85, 205n22 Sextus Empiricus 14, 149

Siro 61, 203 Socrates 7, 9, 70n14, 71n16, 74, 117n56, 158, 163, 173n31, 190 Solon 106, 257 Sotion (Peripatetic) 200 Sulla 162n170 Telemachus 121n63 Themistocles 106 Theophrastus 194, 209n38, 218, 233, 234, 235, 249, 250 Timasagoras 66n1, 173 Timocrates 138, 139, 156–158, 200, 205, 214–215 Timon of Athens 18n1 Timon of Phlius 204 Torquatus 37, 38n71, 45n86, 49n96, 65n128 Valerius Corvinus 240n28 Varius 208 Varro 233n2, 234, 235, 237, 240, 242, 243 Virgil 208, 241n32 Xenophon 7, 193n89, 233, 234, 235, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 245, 249, 256, 257n87 Zeno of Citium 223, 263n3 Zeno of Sidon 2, 38n71, 99, 223, 264

Index Rerum Abstinence (of alcohol) 189, 190n75, 193 Academics 49–50n96 Agricultural handbooks 233, 235, 238 Alienation 148–152, 261 Anger. See also irascibility Empty 19, 20, 74, 76, 139, 144, 155, 156, 167, 173, 174, 177, 178, 181, 212, 222, 223n92, 228 Feigned 175–178, 180–184 Natural (ὀργή) 19, 20, 44, 45n86, 55, 139–164, 167, 174–178, 179, 180–184, 188, 205, 212, 214, 215n73, 222, 223, 228, 261 Rage (θύμος) 28, 55, 81, 140n107, 141, 146, 148, 155, 157, 159, 174, 181n54, 184, 185, 186, 188, 190, 195, 197, 223n92, 225, 226, 253 Anti–Epicurean polemics 31n48, 33, 38n69, 49n96, 68n9, 72, 98n96, 104, 106, 109n33, 111, 112n40, 139n105, 144, 198–231, 263–264 Anti–Greek sentiments 205n25, 207n29 Arrogance 12, 19–24, 28, 31, 50, 66, 73, 102– 112, 130n83, 211n52, 213n61, 216–222, 223, 226–230, 250, 265 Art (τέχνη) 4, 46–47, 66, 84–100, 232, 234–235, 238, 257–258 Ars vivendi 87n68, 88–89, 91, 96 Conjectural 85, 93–95, 96, 97 Atomism 12, 57n113, 67, 72n22, 114, 135, 136, 138, 148, 185, 191, 195n95, 212, 263n3, 268 Aviaries 237, 242n36 Banquets 6n2, 9, 32, 33n53, 53, 185n60, 190, 193, 195n94, 196 Barbarians 16, 141n110, 247, 248n50 Bites (of emotion) 4, 39n73, 44, 45n86, 124, 125n69, 140, 143–146, 147, 151n136, 157n161, 159, 165–174, 175n36, 176, 182, 183, 253–254n73, 261, 262 Catilinarian conspiracy 162n170 Chance (τύχη) 12, 23n20, 35, 39, 40, 46, 48, 49, 94, 102n7, 103, 107, 108, 110, 111, 113, 119, 121, 129–131, 135, 136, 137, 170, 222, 229, 243, 252, 256n84

Children 27, 131n84, 168n11, 180, 181–182n55, 249 Christians 18, 82 Criminals 112, 116–121, 137, 138, 141, 142, 150, 163n177 Cynics 26n28, 46, 53n101, 69n13, 105, 246 Dead people 41n76, 44, 114–115, 122, 123, 161 Death/dying 28, 29, 39, 93, 117, 118, 120, 133, 134, 151n137, 153, 154, 157n161, 166, 172, 173, 182, 189n73, 191n80, 227, 243, 249, 252, 253 Abroad 168–169 At sea 115–116, 121–125, 159, 167 Being remembered after 9, 39, 114, 169 By execution 158–164 Young 114, 124–125 Deservedness 112, 113, 117, 118, 119, 120, 132, 133, 136, 162 Disdain (καταφρόνησις) 19, 20, 23, 49, 50, 101–112, 119n59, 125–127, 137, 163, 164, 204, 205, 216, 221, 222, 231, 247, 260, 261 Disposition (διάθεσις) 4, 12–14, 16, 19, 20, 29, 30, 33, 34, 35, 56, 63, 67, 77n37, 78, 80, 85, 91, 97, 98, 120, 121, 124, 127, 128, 129, 130n83, 133, 135, 141, 143, 145, 149, 150, 151, 152, 154, 155, 160n165, 177, 178, 179, 182n54, 191, 199, 211, 212, 215, 221, 222, 228, 229, 230, 247, 248, 254, 262, 268 Early humans 26, 27, 28, 30, 131–132n84 Education (παιδεία) 13n38, 114n48, 122n64 Elderly people 114, 127n75, 159, 239, 266, 267 Enemies 27, 28, 34, 61n122, 81, 104, 118, 119, 138–164, 201, 214–215, 216, 217, 219, 221, 229 Envy 11, 23, 104, 119n59, 130n83, 133, 137, 158, 162, 169–171, 206, 207, 216, 219–221, 229 Epicurean handbooks 90, 266 Epistemology 223–231 Erotic desire 73–74 False beliefs 119, 28, 67, 73, 74n29, 78, 92, 109, 110, 119, 120, 121, 137, 138, 141, 147, 219, 220, 222, 228, 230

Index Rerum Farming 52–53, 234–245, 246, 254–259 Bonus agricola 236, 241n32, 242, 243, 244 Love of 237, 240 Fear 13, 30, 32n51, 33, 35, 45, 73, 80, 81n44, 91, 93, 109, 118, 119, 123, 124, 126n74, 135, 147, 159, 160, 161, 162, 164, 172, 182, 243, 253 Fish ponds 237, 242n36, 244 Flattery 50, 61, 73, 198–211, 220–222, 226, 228–230 Fortune. See chance Frankness 10, 21, 22n16, 23n20, 60–63, 66, 67, 68, 75, 77n37, 78, 80, 83, 84, 89–90, 93–94, 95, 96–97, 99, 100n99, 126, 127, 166, 175, 177n41, 178, 179, 183, 208–211, 212, 213n57, 215, 254, 255, 261 Friends/friendship 4, 10, 18–65, 68, 70, 71, 72–76, 77, 78, 82, 83, 84, 86, 95, 96, 99, 100, 101, 105, 106, 113, 115, 119, 121, 122, 124, 131–132n84, 135, 136, 139, 148, 149, 156, 157n161, 160, 161, 164, 168, 169, 171, 173, 174, 175, 179, 180, 181, 196n99, 198, 200, 201, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219, 221, 225, 229, 230, 232, 233n1, 239, 240, 242n36, 243, 244, 250, 251, 252, 253, 256n84, 260, 261, 263 Between sages 60–64 Having many 37–60, 84, 169, 229, 232, 243, 256n84 Instrumentality of 25, 26–27, 34, 37–38, 39, 42, 43–44, 45, 49, 51, 52, 60n119, 63, 64, 75, 76, 84, 95, 131n84, 201, 208 Fuga dal servilismo 207–208 Generosity 31, 43, 46–60, 64, 70n15, 86, 110, 246, 259, 261 Gods 13n36, 16, 32n51, 33–34, 41n76, 43, 57, 93, 95, 107n27, 109, 124, 130n83, 172, 214n62, 227, 243, 255, 262 Golden Age 14n41, 255, 256n84 Gratitude 14, 36–37, 46–60, 62, 63, 64, 68, 70, 71, 79, 99, 100, 138, 179, 218, 221, 222, 232, 260, 261 Hatred 11, 24, 36n62, 58n116, 81, 119n59, 148–152, 211, 214, 215, 261

305 Help (offered or received) 22–24, 27–28, 42–45, 46, 48, 52, 53, 56–57, 59, 64, 78, 84, 110, 124, 132n84, 133n88, 137, 156n157, 160n165, 175n36, 221–222, 256n84 Historical sages 6, 7, 8, 9–10 Homeric elements 6n1, 10, 79, 141, 195n94 Hospitality 29, 31–37, 38n69, 42, 60n119, 64, 110, 137, 222, 247 Income 48n92, 49, 51, 52, 53, 60, 68–72, 208, 232–245, 246, 247, 250, 255, 259, 261 Intermundia 41n76, 255 Intoxication 4, 55, 165, 184–197 Hangovers 196n101 Heating effect 185, 190, 191 Irascibility 12, 19–22, 24–28, 35, 50, 56n111, 57, 66, 74, 97, 98n96, 141, 150, 154n146, 156n157, 167, 173, 177–178, 181n54, 186, 211–215, 222, 223, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230, 249, 255, 264 Jealousy (ζηλοτυπία) 158, 200, 208, 221, 228 Justice/injustice 27n32, 118n57, 136, 158–164, 171, 225, 257–258 Kindness 21, 24, 29–37, 60n119, 64, 72, 78, 86, 99, 101, 110, 132n84, 137, 139, 149, 160, 191, 247, 250, 252, 253, 259, 260, 261, 268 Feigned 176, 178–180 Labor/toil 5, 13, 63, 86, 91, 116, 236, 237, 238, 240, 241, 242, 243, 244, 245–259 Love of 237, 240 Language 15–16, 58n114, 187–188, 210n44, 226 Lawbreaking 101, 118, 120, 156, 160, 162, 258 Laziness 75, 243, 24, 265 Leisure 5, 12, 86, 237, 241, 245–259 Literacy 14–15, 87, 254n75, 258n88, 266 Loneliness 18–28, 38–40, 169 Lucretius’ observer 109n34, 123, 129–134, 136, 163 Magnanimity 101–111, 137, 260 Malicious joy 23, 28, 120, 130, 132n88, 133, 137, 229 Marriage 11, 12, 181n55, 253n72

306 Maximalists 55, 56, 58, 140n107, 184–197 Memories (pleasure from) 28–29, 39, 41, 114, 169, 267 Merchants 115–121, 122, 123, 125, 126, 133, 134, 137, 138, 167, 253n71 Mining 246, 249, 267 Misfortune. See chance Moral progress 8, 18, 21, 75–76, 80, 91, 92, 121, 125, 169 Morally inferior (χυδαῖοι) 104–107, 109, 110, 216, 219, 230 Multiple explanations 57n113 Music 3, 87, 88, 89, 109, 195n94, 265 Natural goods 217, 254n73, 264, 265 Pain 24, 29, 44, 45, 58, 76, 80, 81, 82, 83, 94, 112, 113, 123, 124, 125n69, 128, 129, 130n83, 131, 133, 134, 135, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144n118, 145, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 157n161, 159, 160, 161, 162, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 181, 215n73, 243, 245, 247, 253, 259, 261, 262, 263, 266, 267 Peripatetics 22n18, 72, 102, 103, 155, 200 Philanthropy (φιλανθρωπία). See kindness Phoenix 1, 2, 5, 8, 60, 263, 266, 268 Pigs 1, 2, 5, 268 Pity 78, 81n44, 112–138, 163, 167n10, 215, 249n56, 261 Pleasure 1, 2, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 43, 44, 46, 49, 51, 58n116, 74, 77n37, 80, 82n52, 86, 87n63, 88, 91, 92, 95, 99, 106, 109n34, 113, 125, 129, 130, 131, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 137, 138, 142n111, 148, 152n139, 153, 155, 156n156, 157n161, 162, 163, 164, 168, 169, 173, 175, 179, 195, 201, 202, 214, 237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242n36, 244, 245, 256, 261, 266, 267, 268 Katastematic 129, 196n101 Kinetic 195 Poetry 3, 87, 89, 198, 201–202, 265 Politics 11–12, 72, 93, 106, 111, 124, 132, 158, 161, 162, 171, 198, 200, 201, 204, 205n24, 217, 236, 238, 251, 266 Politicians. See politics Poverty 46, 53, 69, 70, 71, 84, 99, 105, 170, 247, 253, 256n84

Index Rerum Poor Epicureans 52–53, 60, 69n13, 168, 208, 232, 246n41, 260 Preconception (πρόληψις) 86–87, 124n68, 150, 223–227, 240 Profit 46–51, 86–87, 115, 118, 119, 237–238, 240–242, 243, 245, 246, 259, 267 Proficiens (προκόπτων) 223, 264, 265 Proscriptions of Sulla 162n170 Prostitutes 247, 253n72 Punishment 27, 57, 112, 127–128, 141, 147, 152–164, 182, 215, 249, 251, 253, 257, 258, 259 Qualifying philosophy 11, 143, 187, 227n109, 230, 251, 264, 266–268 Rational calculus 11, 50, 56, 70, 76, 77, 84, 99, 113, 122–125, 134, 137, 139–143, 144, 145, 146, 147n127, 152n139, 156, 157, 171–174, 175n36, 183–184, 196, 205, 213, 241, 245, 261, 263, 266, 267 Reputation 103, 126n74, 138, 143n113, 201, 204, 205, 218, 227, 230, 231, 250, 265 Revenge 19, 56n111, 57, 141, 148, 152–164, 172, 250 Rhetoric 3, 88, 89, 90, 179, 203, 265 Roman aristocrats 2, 87n67, 100, 111–112, 139, 141n110, 198, 206, 207, 232, 233, 236, 242, 245 Safety 26, 27n32, 30, 39, 42, 44, 64, 118, 119, 120–121, 131–132n84, 148, 154n146, 162, 170, 175, 208, 230, 232, 245, 248–250, 253 Sagehood 2, 4, 7, 8, 9, 12–16, 54, 59, 60, 61, 69n13, 92, 96, 135, 144, 191, 192, 251, 258, 259, 260–268 And fallibility 96–100, 145, 211–215, 218, 262 Self–proclaimed 9, 61, 217, 263, 264–266 Stoic 1n1, 8, 9, 60, 178n44, 187n66, 191–192, 215, 222, 262–264, 266, 268 Schadenfreude. See malicious joy Sea/seafaring 41n77, 115–116, 117, 119, 121–125, 129, 136, 137, 138, 159, 167, 253n71 Security. See safety Seelenheilung 4, 21, 53, 66–84, 67, 77, 83, 93, 94, 95, 110, 120, 125, 126, 135, 155n149, 160n165, 199, 207, 221, 257

307

Index Rerum Seven Sages 6, 217 Sharing. See generosity Slander 29, 33, 71n18, 139, 143n13, 158, 162, 200–201, 203–206, 207, 208, 220, 222, 229, 230, 261 Slaves/servants 5, 28, 53, 127–128, 194, 212, 215, 217–218, 221n88, 233, 236, 238, 239, 242, 245–259, 266–267 Sober reasoning 12, 13, 20, 122n67, 135, 136, 143, 195 Social isolation. See loneliness Soldiers 7, 28, 69n13, 133, 141n110, 155, 236 Sophists 70–71, 200 Species expressa 224, 228, 229, 230 Species impressa (φαντασία) 97n94, 142, 212, 217, 223–225, 228–230 Statues 9, 33, 34, 214n62 Stoics 1n1, 8, 9, 22n18, 56n111, 60, 81n46, 88, 102, 106n27, 109, 144, 166, 171, 178n44, 187n66, 191–192, 193n90, 197, 200, 215, 222, 223, 228, 247, 259n89, 262–264, 265, 266, 268 Students 10, 20, 21, 22, 32n49, 52, 59n117, 67–84, 89–99, 124, 125, 126, 132n84, 144n119, 174–180, 181n55, 183, 212, 213, 228, 230, 232, 262, 264, 267 Sycophants 162 Sympathy (συμπάθεια) 76–84, 132 Symposia. See banquets Teachers/teaching 2, 4, 9n21, 13, 14, 20, 21, 22n16, 30, 37, 38n71, 59n117, 66–100, 120, 121, 126, 127, 155n149,160n165, 166, 174–183, 202, 207, 212, 213, 223, 229, 232, 246, 251, 254, 257–258, 264, 265 As tamers of people 30, 155n149, 215 Testaments 168, 252

Tranquility (ἀταραξία) 12, 87n63, 87n68, 92, 94, 98, 109n34, 116n51, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 133, 134, 136, 137, 139, 144, 146, 148, 151, 154,156n156, 157, 158,159, 160, 164, 172, 175, 176, 181, 198, 206, 211, 214, 241, 245, 246, 253, 255 Travel 41, 116, 121–124 Truth 7, 13, 58n116, 61n122, 74, 145, 152n139, 183, 199, 223–225, 230, 257, 263n3, 268 Trust 43, 44, 45, 52, 64, 71, 79, 119, 161, 162, 164, 205n25 Tyrants 58n116, 158, 159, 161–164 Unnoticed life 12, 31, 33n54, 68n9, 106, 152n138, 156, 173n31, 230, 251 Vice 3, 4, 12, 16, 19, 20, 21, 22n18, 23n20, 29, 31n48, 66, 73, 74n29, 80, 84, 94, 99, 101, 102, 111, 121, 138, 159, 160, 161, 163, 164, 178, 180n53, 182n55, 190, 191, 194, 199, 205, 207, 220, 221, 222, 223, 226, 230 Violence 22, 26, 27–28, 30, 56n111, 77n36, 86n63, 119–120, 131n84, 141, 154, 155, 156–158, 160n165, 215, 249 Virtue 3, 8, 56, 101, 102, 111, 126, 137, 153, 163, 179, 182n55, 199, 201, 202, 219–220, 257n87 War 28, 40, 42n78, 122, 129, 155, 249n60 Wealth 13, 47, 49, 50, 68, 70n15, 86n61, 87n67, 103, 105, 107, 109,111, 116, 130n83, 171, 209, 232, 238, 242n36, 244, 246, 266 Wealthy Epicureans 5, 43, 48, 52, 53, 54, 60, 69n13, 72, 86, 208, 233, 238–258, 260, 266 Women 27, 74, 125–127, 131n84, 248, 253n72